


Marinette, the Teenage (Sassy) Witch

by fufflepie



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: AU, Blood, Bread, F/M, Familiars, Humor, Marichat, Memes, Witchcraft, Witches, attitude, bread meme, i am a meme, sassiness, spells, that one ladynoir magic!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 12:46:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5128163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fufflepie/pseuds/fufflepie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meet Adrien. All he wanted to do was live his life being the most powerful wizard in the kingdom. Except he's cursed and a cat. Meet Marinette. All she wanted was to summon her idol, Adrien Agreste, save him from whatever spell he's surely under, have him fall in love with her, get married, and live happily ever after while also being heralded as the greatest witch to ever live. </p><p>Instead, she gets a cat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's a Cat

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off of my original post on my tumblr (@pisces-royalty)!  
> -Adrien Agreste was the most powerful and the best wizard in the kingdom  
> -He was cursed by a black mage by the name of Papillon and turned into a black cat  
> -Marinette is an aspiring witch who finds inspiration in Adrien  
> -Marinette is a fangirl of Adrien and has gotten it into her head that she will find the missing wizard and he will love her in return  
> -Marinette does some illegal magic trying to summon Adrien and instead gets a black cat  
> -Not knowing that the black cat is Adrien, she - disappointed - takes him as her familiar instead  
> -Adrien as a cat falls in love with his witch  
> -Whenever Marinette is in some kind of magical trouble, she can will magic into her familiar, who turns into a half-man, half-cat. The transformation lasts for about two to three hours and during that time, Chat-man Adrien is flirting it up with Marinette in hopes she’ll fall in love with him and break the curse. Unfortunately, he can’t tell her his true identity
> 
> I hope you enjoy!!

He’s the greatest wizard in all the seven kingdoms. He possesses the most powerful magic the world has seen in centuries. He’s stopped wars, advised kings, almost  _became_ a king at some point. He’s done everything the common man dreams to do - short of getting married - at the meager age of seventeen. He’s a cat. 

Okay, back up a bit. He wasn’t a  _cat_ when he was off doing his wizarding things, but he sure is a cat  _now._ Or is he? 

He looks behind him, swishes his tail, feels the pointed ears perched upon his head. 

Yes, he’s still a cat. 

Well, no, technically from a magical standpoint, he’s  _not_ a cat. He’s a person taking on the  _appearance_ of a cat. Because that’s how curses works. 

Speaking of curses, he still wonders why he  _would_  be cursed. Sure, as the most powerful wizard in all seven kingdoms, there had been many cursing attempts on him before, but no one had ever been smart enough to curse him in his  _sleep_ before. 

Well, at least theMonsieur Curse-Man left him a note. Something along the lines of  “Hahaha, you’re  _cursed._ To break the spell, you need true love’s kiss. But you can _never_ speak of your true identity!” The letter had been signed by someone by the name of Papillon and Adrien can’t help but wonder…what does this Papillon  _want?_

Surely he doesn’t want to advise  _kings_. Kings never even wanted advice: they just held such courts for the sake of tradition, not because they wanted to be told - _advised_ \- what to do. If a king had his mind set on something, then he’d hear from no one else. Kings are petulant children. 

Well, Papillon surely possesses more intelligence than desiring to advise a king, so why would Papillon curse him, then? 

At the back of his mind, something tingles, a memory trying to resurface. Now that he thinks of it, this  _Papillon_ sounds somewhat familiar. Somewhat. 

But as for breaking the curse…that would raise a multitude of questions. If a human fell in love with him in a cat form, that would make them a participant of bestiality. And if  _he_ fell in love with a cat while in his cat form and transformed back into a human, that would make  _him_ a…participant…of bestiality. 

He shudders at the thought. 

He paws at the rough dirt beneath him. His fur is mangy and dirty; he looks like any stray cat found anywhere. Ignoring the bestiality, how would he get so much as a _ladybug_ to love him in this state-

Suddenly, he feels a sharp pain. It begins in his heart, spreads to all his limbs within seconds. Like something ripping him apart, trying to reform him again, then trying to split him further apart. Tearing through all his muscles, traveling up and down his bones as if to fracture them as slowly, as painfully as possible. He moans, meows, screeches into the distant sky, but it is night, no one but the moon to hear his pain. And soon, there is nothing to witness him there. 

* * *

Marinette blinks. Looks down. Flips through her scroll, traces every word of every step. Looks up. Looks down. Looks up. Blinks. 

She did everything right, so how did it turn out like this?

She was supposed to get Adrien Agreste.  _The_ Adrien Agreste. As in the youngest, greatest wizard. And also the hottest. As in the  _prodigy_ Adrien Agreste. As in her _idol_ Adrien Agreste. As in the guy who’s supposed to be summoned by her - however illegally - see her, and fall in love with the girl who’s finally found him after he’s been missing for months. 

This is a cat. 

Marinette anguishes at her failed abilities. She  _knows_ she shouldn’t have expected much - she’s a novice. She’s literally only begun her magic career two months ago. And without a formal teacher. Or  _any_ teacher, honestly. 

This is a  _cat._

She couldn’t even summon a regular guy that happened to go by Adrien. No, she couldn’t even summon a  _person._

She looks at the cat, glares at it a little. But it stares back at her, tilts its head slightly, purrs. Intelligence shines in its eyes, and it seems to be drinking in her presence as it sits patiently, every now and then swishing its tail. 

 _This may be a cat_ , she thinks,  _but it sure is a_ cute _cat_.  _And, judging by its fur, it’s probably a stray, nowhere to go._

Marinette sighs. This is a cat: definitely not Adrien Agreste. But she can’t just leave it alone after summoning it. 

Well, every good witch needs her familiar, right?


	2. She's Not Dropping Her Bread

Adrien tilts his head, stares inquisitively at the young girl before him. _She looks about his age,_ he notes.  _And she’s mumbling something too. Something about her being a novice? Only having begun learning magic two months ago? Without…any teacher?_

His eyes widen. He meows in shock. 

If that was true…if everything was true - and he sees no reason for her to lie (she’s by herself with a cat and there’s nothing to lie to a  _cat_ about) - then forget  _him_ being a prodigy and a master wizard,  _this_ girl should be the world renowned mage. 

After all, summoning spells require detailed precision and a large store of mana. If done wrong, he could’ve died. Or a demon could have been summoned in his place. But this girl… _this_ girl with hardly any magical experience managed to summon him with only two months of training. Or “training,” as she had no instructor. 

And now the poor girl is lamenting over her “failed” spell. How she’s not good enough. How she failed Adrien Agreste because he’s her idol and he was supposed to fall in love with her and they were supposed to live happily ever after and she was supposed to be heralded as Adrien’s savior but instead all she has is a  _cat._  

If cats could blush, Adrien would definitely be blushing then. He knew he had fangirls, but he had led a relatively isolated life. Being the most powerful wizard in the world meant having to be wary of people taking advantage of you, being cautious of everyone - stranger or not - because they could attempt to kidnap, hex, curse you to use you to their own advantage. Being the most powerful wizard in the world meant…living the loneliest life in the world. 

Sure, it sounded glamorous, but the truth of perpetual paranoia was anything but. 

“Hey there,” the girl murmurs, slowly inching towards him. He hadn’t noticed before because of her harsh, hushed self-chiding, but the girl had a lovely voice. 

She takes a few tentative steps toward him, probably afraid that he’ll saunter away. He stays in his spot, expecting, waiting. She’s only half a meter away now, and she leans down. 

“My name’s Marinette.” She picks him up, gingerly, her gaze never lifting from his. “What’s your name?”

He purrs at her. 

 _Marinette_ , what a lovely name. She smells like strawberries. 

“I’ll call you…” she hums a bit, takes a look at his dark fur coat and her eyes light up. “I’ll call you Chat Noir.”

There’s a silence. 

 _Well,_ Adrien thinks,  _Marinette doesn’t get too many points in the creative naming department._

“So, Chat Noir, would you like to be my familiar?”

Adrien - Chat Noir - stares at her, long and hard. 

He is the most powerful wizard in all seven kingdoms. He is a world renowned magic user. He has advised kings. He almost  _became_ a king at some point. And now he’s about to become a lowly familiar. 

No. Absolutely not. 

He struggles in her hand, and she, startled, loosens her grip, allowing him to pounce away. 

He is an independent chat who don’t need no witch. Goodbye forever, lovely Marinette who smells faintly of strawberries. 

* * *

He’s lost. He is inconceivably lost. He’s literally been wandering around for hours.

See, the downside about being the most powerful wizard in the world and being isolated for most of your life is that you have no sense of direction because you’ve never actually  _gone_ anywhere by yourself. 

Oh, and also he’s never seen this town before. 

At least it’s daybreak now, giving him enough light to see that the buildings are rustic, asymmetrical stacks of stones. 

Now, where could he be? What town utilizes this kind of architecture?

Oh right.  _All of the rural ones._

Wow, Adrien. Much information. Very-

“Help!”

-helpful. 

 His head swivels around. The inner human in him tells him to follow the voice, to do what he can. The physically cat side of him tells him not to do the thing. Because he’s, you know,  _physically a cat and what can a tiny cat do?_

Cute them into submission, maybe. 

Well, that’s something, he supposes. 

“Help!”

Finally determined, Adrien sets his four tiny paws to work, pursuing the source of the voice. 

* * *

“Help!” Marinette cries again and again, one arm around a bag of bread, the other on her purse strap, tugging at it with all her might. She’s a short girl and she’s had a rough night. On top of failing her spell, having her summoned cat  _run away_ from her - rude - now she’s about to have nearly all her money stolen along with several of her spell scrolls. 

Marinette does  _not_ deserve this. All she wanted was some  _bread._ And she’s  _not_ about to drop her bread to get back her purse. 

That bread was  _expensive._

“Help!” she calls out again. 

You know, this would be a  _great_  time for her to just whip out a spell and knock out this thief. Except,  _wow_ , she hasn’t memorized a  _single_   _spell!_ She’s going to need to add ‘ _memorizing spells’_ to the top of her list. Right after ‘ _finding Adrien Agreste and making him love me._ ’

Clearly, realistic goals are a trend for her. 

Marinette digs her feet into the ground, tugging at her purse with all her might. Or, at least, as much might as one hand can offer. Because she is  _not_ dropping her bread. 

Except the purse strap is going to break any second now, she’s sure. “Help!” she yells one more time, voice cracking. Maybe she should just let go of her purse, accept her losses, and become a baker. She has the bread right now for it, anyway. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she spots something familiar. Something black. Something like…her Chat Noir that ran out on her. Her eyebrows furrow in indecision. If she wasn’t desperate, she would be shooing the rude creature away. 

But…she’s  _desperate._

Apparently desperate enough to beg a cat for help.

“Help!” she calls out to the cat. “Please help!” 

The cat extends its claws, readies itself to pounce on the thief. Closing her eyes, Marinette pleads to all the spirits - and Adrien Agreste - that the cat will manage to stop the thief. 

She was supposed to see nothing but darkness. Her eyes are closed after all. But with her eyes closed, she can see a bright glow, growing and fluctuating. 

She opens her eyes. She drops her bread. 


	3. There's a 70% Chance She'll Regret this Decision

When she gets out of this mess, Chat Noir is going to  _get_  it.  _First_ , it dared to be summoned instead of  _Adrien. Then_  it ran away from her when she benevolently asked if it wanted to be her familiar. And now  _this._

Not to mention that it made her drop her bread. 

If her father - a baker! - saw her in this state now, he would be weeping. 

For her bread. 

 _Trust me, papa, I am too,_ Marinette thinks. 

But what was it that made her drop her bread? Well, even Marinette doesn’t know, honestly. 

One minute, there’s a black cat in front of her. Then she closes her eyes for one second and what does she get when she opens them? 

She literally doesn’t know, but that doesn’t make it  _okay_ in the slightest. 

Well, if she can’t accurately say what’s happened in concise wording, she might as well describe it. 

It’s a person. Except it’s not a person. ( _Wow, Marinette, what a_ great  _description.)_ It’s  _half_ a person. Okay sure, at  _first_ it seems pretty person-like, what with its human arms and human legs and human clothing in its trousers and fur vest. Okay, pretty normal, she guesses. 

Except, that’s pretty much as far as the normal gets. 

So just imagine this person. Except with actual cat ears and an actual tail and that is what she actually sees. Oh, and if that wasn’t bad enough, for some reason this half-person-cat is also wearing a mask, concealing half of his facial features. It doesn’t help that his unkempt blonde hair hides the other half of said features. 

Speaking of, this half-person-cat is staring at himself, too. Feeling his ears and stretching his limbs in shock. 

 _What a narcissistic,_ Marinette can’t help but think. 

She taps her foot. Lips pucker in irritation. She can feel herself busting a vein. 

“Well?” she asks the cat-person. “Are you going to help me or not.” She points her finger in the town direction. “Because while you were busy admiring yourself, the thief already  _left.”_

He looks at her. Opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something. But he scratches his throat, coughs a bit, eyebrows furrow in confusion. Slowly, he closes his mouth and, with an awkward smile tossed in her direction, runs off after the thief. 

* * *

He’s human again. Okay, not so human, but still, it’s closer than what it was before. 

Because before, he was a  _cat._

He runs, relishing the feeling of having actual feet again. Except also kind of not, because when he transformed back into a human (sort of), he obtained an outfit that was too cat-like for his liking; he’s pretty sure that the fur lining his vest and boots is cat fur. 

That Hawkmoth guy sure is thematic. 

And he’s been trying to speak for the last three minutes. He’s found that not being able to speak is  _not_  part of the curse, as he’s been able to make sounds, at the very least. 

He’s been a cat for several months, maybe he’s forgotten how to be human. 

( _Oh_ , the  _humanity_.) 

Diverting his attention back to the task at hand, he runs and runs, picking up his pace, chasing after the back of someone he didn’t really take a good look at. Honestly speaking, he doesn’t know why he’s following this Marinette’s orders - he could just as easily run  _away_ from the scene. 

But there’s something that draws him towards her. Something that doesn’t quite want to let go of her just yet. 

It’s probably the cat side of him hoping that she’ll feed him. 

Hey, he’s an alley cat who hasn’t been getting enough food lately. He’s pretty desperate. 

So he runs and runs, the thief’s back coming closer, clearer in Adrien’s vision. Narrowing his eyes, he prepares to pounce on the offender. 

But then he hears footsteps behind him. Yet it’s still relatively early in the morning, and he’s seen very few people on the street so far. Even fewer he’s seen that looked fit enough to run at - judging by his apparently enhanced hearing - his speed. Confused, he looks behind him. 

It’s Marinette. Running after him, her pigtails flying behind her, her eyebrows crinkled together in intense concentration. And she’s looking at the thief, a dangerous glint in her eyes. 

Adrien blinks, astounded. Considering her irritation, he had expected her to simply expect him to do her bidding, removing herself from all responsibility. But this girl - this Marinette - was actually willing to put herself at risk for her  _own_  sake, even if there was already someone there to do that for her. 

And Adrien - greatest wizard of them all - has to respect that. 

Swiveling his attention back to the thief now, newfound determination within him, Adrien sprints to the thief, grappling the man from behind and covers his eyes. The thief struggles, wildly swinging his arms in the air, trying to either disorient Adrien enough to get him off his back or hit the boy and use the sheer force to knock Adrien off of him. 

But the thief’s plan backfires, as his angry gesticulations cause the man to drop the purse. In one motion, Adrien swoops the purse from the ground and tosses it to Marinette, who hugs the thing upon receiving it. Adrien jumps off the thief now, hoping the man isn’t willing to put up a fight to keep the purse. 

And sure enough, the man isn’t, running off into the rising dawn. 

Smile on his face, Adrien turns around once more, flourishing his victory with a bow in Marinette’s direction. 

He opens his mouth to say something - something probably witty and dreamy - to her when  _it_  happens. Something that makes his leg twitch, his bones all jump at once, cracking and resizing as fur collects once more over his body. In the blink of an eye, he’s back to staring at her feet. 

“ _Meow_.”

* * *

“Well.” Marinette sits down. Crosses her legs and folds her arms as she stares at the creature. “What do I do with you now?”

The cat purrs, nuzzling her side. With a subtle swish of its tail, it pads off to an open book. It paws at the pages, struggling to flip them. 

Curiosity getting the best of her, Marinette crawls over just as the cat gets to the page “Familiar Contract.”

Marinette stares at the cat. The cat stares back. 

Subconsciously, her eye twitches slightly. Oh, so  _now_ the cat wants to be her familiar. 

“You want to be my  _familiar,_ huh?” A few sardonic laughs. “Should I run away from _you_ this time?”

The cat’s tail jerks. The creature trots up to her. Nestles its head into the palm of her hand. Stares at her with its large green eyes. Mews. 

Marinette sighs, petting the poor cat. It’s so soft and cute that she can’t stay mad at it for long. Peering over its head, she examines the spell. 

Well, at least all she needs for it is some paint and a lot of mana. 

There’s about a seventy percent chance that she’s going to regret this. 

* * *

It’s been about two hours and the percent chance of her regretting her decision already passed one hundred about forty minutes ago. 

Darn the old witches and their desire to make every spell and magic circle as elaborate and convoluted as possible. 

She points the cat at the center of the circle. “Sit. There.” Honestly, she’s about had it with the cat and it constantly nipping her finger if she draws something even an angle off. 

 _As if it knows more magic than me_ , she inwardly scoffs. 

Adjusting her skirt, she sits a few centimeters away from the border of the circle. She closes her eyes. Holds her hand forward and waits for the cat to place its head along her palm. Once she feels the soft fur brushing against her finger tips, she begins. 

 _“O, spirits: Fire and Water, Wind and Earth.”_ She feels a wind rising, playing with her hair. A subtle shake in the earth beneath. “ _I summon thee here today to bear witness with my soul, for here be mine chosen creature._

 _“And here, chosen creature of mine, heed my call as my familiar.To me, familiar, thou shall offer me your spirit. Thou shall protect me with thou full being. Thou shall serve me with thou full will.”_ She crinkles her eyes, trying hard to keep them closed. Beads of sweat begin to form along her forehead. “ _Mine familiar, thou shalt be. And unto thee, I offer all my soul. Hitherto, we art bound by this contract. Thou art mine as I art thou’s. Thou’s will is mine, my mana thou’s!”_ A sharp crescendo in her voice, she concentrates all her mana into the cat.

A sudden upsurge in wind. A sudden flash of bright green. Tentatively, she opens her eyes, squinting to adjust her vision. Small balls of light - a tranquil cascade - float around the magic circle.

In the silence, a husky voice reverberates.

“My lady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all the chapters I have posted on my tumblr (@pisces-royalty) so far! 
> 
> If you enjoyed the story so far, please feel free to leave a kudos! Or even a comment! I would absolutely love to read anything you have to say on this!! 
> 
> And also, feel absolutely free to comment suggestions and what you would like me to add in future chapters!! I'll try to incorporate as many of your ideas as I can into this piece, because everything's written spontaneously hahaha. c: Thank you for reading and I hope you liked it so far!!


	4. Knock Knock. Who's There?

She’s not sure which one she likes better: the cat or the cat- _person._ Objectively the cat-person is more useful, rescuing her purse and whatnot. But the cat itself is  _far_ cuter. Not as cute as Adrien, sure, but still pretty cute.

The fact that it can’t speak only adds to its cuteness, too. 

Ever since she had  _benevolently_ forgiven the cat from walking out on her and accepted it as her familiar, every day - starting with day one - has been a struggle.  

After she had -  _successfully!!!_  - performed the spell, she hadn’t expected the cat to revert back to its cat-person form. Calling her his lady. Trying to kiss her hand like the obnoxious flirt he apparently is. 

But then he had offered to teach her magic. 

_Magic._

Except she had refused to so readily accept his offer. For good reason, too. “Magic?” she had asked, crossing her arms and leaning her weight on one hip for critical sass. “If you can do magic, then prove it to me.” 

He had perfectly mirrored her pose, raising his eyebrows to add his own flair of sass. “Prove to you?” He had chuckled. “Marinette, do you know who you’re talking to? I’m-I’m...I’m...” He had coughed. Scratched at his throat as his eyebrows had slowly descended and crinkled together in confusion. “I’m -”

“A stray cat, I know.” She had laughed it off, not thinking too much about it. Although, now she wonders what it was he wanted to say at the time... 

Not that it probably matters, anyhow. 

“Anyway,” he had said, cutting off the split second of silence. “Magic.”

“Magic,” she had repeated, lip curling upwards in amusement. 

He had taken a deep breath. Raising his hands to the height of his chest, he had turned them palms upwards, fingers slightly curved inwards. And then he had chanted nonsense. Well, she assumes it had been magic, but it sure hadn’t sounded like French. 

You know, it probably  _was_  gibberish. Because after he had stopped his chanting, there had passed two awkward minutes of absolute nothingness. 

He had flexed his fingers, muttering, “Strange. It usually manifests a lot sooner.” Something vaguely far away had begun to chirp.

“Did you summon a cricket?” she had asked, desperate to know that at least _something_ had happened.  

“No.” He had frowned. “The spell was supposed to create a ball of light.”

As you can probably guess, after that he had tried the spell probably a dozen more times. Well, actually she doesn’t  _know_  how many times he had re-attempted the spell because she had stopped paying attention after the third time. All she knows is that he had failed. Every. Single. Time. 

At some point, though, he had given up on himself as much as she had given up on him. Throwing up his arms in annoyance, he had turned to her. “Okay, if I can’t do the spell  _myself,_ I might as well teach it to  _you.”_

Then he had forcefully raised her hands, palms up, and told her to repeat after him. She had, but the chant was so nonsensical she doesn’t remember it anymore. Especially since she had been repeating after him at the pace of a snail, her tongue struggling over the pronunciation of the words. 

Well, that explanation  _or_ she had forcefully purged her mind of the spell altogether. Honestly, if she could have rated that spell, she would have given that thing a zero out of ten: never again.  _Sure,_  she had summoned a ball of light.  _But_ it might as well have been the sun, as the light quite literally consumed the entire room. Honestly, she thinks her vision has never been quite the same since the entire ordeal. 

The only thing she came out of that experience with was knowing that Chat Noir at least knew some magic. 

 _Oh_ , and she also got a cat. Because he had turned back into one. 

* * *

He later told her that the spell was only supposed to summon a small ball of light, about the size of her palm. The fact that she had created so much only meant that she had an  _extremely_ large store of mana and that she just didn’t know how to control it yet. 

But after all she’s been through - after all the magic tutoring she’s had from her familiar - she’s thoroughly convinced that he was mistaken and that it was an isolated incident, because she’s absolutely terrible at this magic thing.

 _But_  she’s also going to be spiteful and blame him for her apparent failure. Because he said he would help her. 

Help. 

Probably stands for “Hellish Education, Lots of Pickiness.”

_Arms up. Feet apart. Shoulders held back. No, don’t use all the salamander eyes, just two. Wait, if you get your hair caught in that spell, it’ll turn into a spell for summoning ogres, not healing bruises! Arms up, Marinette!_

There have been far more complaints about her magic abilities from him, too. And now she’s convinced that she’s absolutely  _dreadful_ at magic. 

How was it that magic required more precision than making bread?  _Bread._ Her dad had once offered her an apprenticeship at his bakery, and she had naively declined. But now, she’s reconsidering taking up his offer again. Because at least  _bread_ made sense to her. If she were to list out the steps to magicking, it would look something like this:

 

> 1\. Obtain magical materials
> 
> 2\. Create magic circle or chant magical chant
> 
> 3.  _?????????????_
> 
> 4.  ** _Magic_**

Don’t ask her about the third step. She doesn’t know either. Seriously. If she knew the third step, she probably would have been able to get to the fourth one by now. 

Except that’s never  _happened_ because she’s evidently  _terrible_ at magic. 

“Come on, it’s easy,” Chat Noir says, pointing at the same spell again for the nth time of the seventeenth day in a row. “Just try one more time.”

Marinette thinks he’s forgotten that she’s already tried it  _n_ times for  _seventeen days in a row._ If the darn spell was so  _easy_ she probably would have been able to do it by now. 

“It’s just a simple conjuring spell,” the cat-person says. 

She’s heard that phrase so many times she can probably say it in her  _sleep_  at this point.

 _You know what’s simple?_ she sardonically thinks. _Bread._

“Just try one more-”

“No.” It seems she’s finally snapped. Well, technically she had snapped a week ago, but she had allowed her minuscule amount of hope to let her suffer through a full  _more_  week of failed attempts. “I’m done for today.” 

“But you’ve only tried it-”

“Two hundred and thirty-seven times, I know.” She rolls her eyes. 

“Well maybe two hundred and thirty- _eight_ is the magic number?”

She glares at him. Hard. “I don’t think so.”

“Well-”

“You know-” She’s beginning to shake in irritation. “I don’t even know why I listen to you. It’s not like  _you_ can do any magic either.”

He stares at her in shock. Then his pupils shrink, green eyes narrowing. He looks as if he’s about to retort. But then he pauses and looks down, expression softening before his face falls. 

He turns back to her then, eyes conveying an incomprehensible sorrow. “Yes. You’re right.” He laughs bitterly. “It’s not like I can do any magic either.”

The next thing she knows, he’s reverted back to his cat form, pouncing away like the first time she met him, leaving her stunned. 

And full of guilt. 

* * *

He’s been wandering the streets for a long time now. Not long enough for his head to sufficiently cool off, though. 

Maybe it was his fault. Contrary to what he’s been saying, conjuring spells were actually pretty difficult. They required immense concentration, imagination, and precision. 

And let’s face it: Marinette’s not the best at the whole precision thing. She probably lucked out in making the summoning circle for him. 

In his defense though, he thought she could handle it. After all, she’s been effortlessly supplying him enough mana to transform between cat and semi-human forms. So effortlessly, in fact, does she do it that she probably doesn’t even  _realize_ it; she has so much mana that she doesn’t register any loss even though it would normally  _drain_  a mage to humanize their familiar for any given amount of time. And it’s not like Adrien changes forms infrequently, too. 

So he thought she was ready for conjuring. But apparently not, and he supposes that his insistence on telling her it was easy had only been fueling the internal fire of frustration. 

So he supposes it’s his fault. 

It’s just that...he’s not quite ready to go back yet. Her reminding him that he couldn’t do any magic was just...too much. 

Magic was part of his identity.  _Was._ He’d been taught the arcane arts since as long as he can remember. It was the main characteristic of his identity. 

 _Was._ As in  _used to._ As in  _not anymore._

Without magic, who really was he? What  _is_  Adrien Agreste without his magic? 

Nothing. No one. No better than an alley cat, apparently. 

He glances up at the blue, blue sky. 

He’s already forgiven her, but it’s still going to take a few more hours until he’s ready to go back. 

* * *

She paces around the house. Back and forth. Down and back. She has a tiny cottage though, and “around the house” translates to “ten steps across, but thirteen if you  _try_ hard enough.” At this rate, she’s going to have to resort to pacing up and down the basement, too. 

It’s been nearly  _eight_ hours. The sun’s beginning to set, the once blue sky tainting with crimson. 

She should probably go out and look for the cat. It’s her familiar. She’s probably responsible for its life. 

What if someone stepped on it? Tripped over it? Or it got taken by a hawk? 

She can already imagine the magic authorities knocking on her door, her familiar in their hand.  _Knock knock. Who’s there? Magic Police; you’re being arrested for violation of the familiar contract and endangering your familiar, effective immediately._

She’s literally so paranoid thinking about her arrest, her future malnutrition in prison - they probably won’t even feed her  _bread,_ how will she  _survive?_ \- that she swears she can hear someone knocking on the door. Turns out her mind’s so good at making up noises that it sounds eerily real. 

And she, without thinking, goes to answer it for some reason. As she flings open the door, she hears a soft purr, and eyes immediately look down. 

Amazingly, she  _wasn’t_  hallucinating, because sure enough, there’s her cat. Purring at her. Looking up at her with its big, green eyes. Sitting there, tail swishing. 

Except, behind it are two pairs of human feet. 

 _Well,_ Marinette thinks.  _Look what the cat brought in._

She glances at the feet, and looks up the legs attached to them. Then she pauses, eyes now slowly trailing up the torso, noting the golden emblems embroidered on the teal robes. Only one type of person wears that kind of garb and it’s the... _oh no._

_Knock knock._

_Who’s there?_

“Wizarding and Witching Deputies of Suspicious Activities. We've been getting reports of unlawful use of magic from your neighbors and have been inclined to investigate.”

_The Magic Police have come to arrest me._

“If you could just provide us your magic license, we’ll be on our way.”

Magic license? Magic. License?

Oh. Yeah, the magic license. As in what she kept deliberately forgetting to get because it costed about fifty dollars for a twenty percent rate of getting the darn thing. She had literally thought getting it was just a myth until Alya had barged into her cottage one day waving around her One-of-a-Kind-Super-Cool-Magic-License-TM. 

She frantically looks around. She certainly doesn’t have any money to  _bribe_ the officers, and she doubts there’s anything in her house that just so  _happens_ to look like a magic license. 

She’s  _so_  getting arrested. 

Beneath her, her familiar is giving her a look. A look that reads: I-Can’t-Believe-You-Didn’t-Get-a-Magic-License-What-Were-You-Thinking.

She glares back at it. A glare that reads: Stop-Sassing-Me-You-Darn-Cat.

“Miss. We’re going to need your magic license, or we have full jurisdiction of the law to arrest you and search your house.”

_Think Marinette, think._

Well, she has twelve cents on her and half a loaf of bread in the kitchen. 

_Think harder._

Maybe she could write an IOU and they’ll take pity? 

_Think less foolishly._

Magic license. Magic license. She could...she could...she could  _make_ a magic license! Conjure one up!

If only she knew how to conjure. 

_Well, desperate times call for desperate measures._

She shuts her eyes. Shoves her hands behind her back in probably the most suspicious way known to man.  _Think Marinette, think. What did Alya’s magic license look like?_

It was white. Thick vellum. Writing was done like calligraphy. Black ink. A red wax stamp. Alya’s name was in the center. “We hereby certify that ____ may lawfully perform magic within the regional borders of the Western Kingdom.” And it was signed by...signed by...the High Mage of her town!

She’s got it!

Chat Noir’s voice in her mind, she imagines. Creates. The texture of the vellum. The swirling ink lines of the writing, down to each ending blot. The flowering wax with the royal emblem stamped upon it. The feeling of the magic license in her hand. 

And suddenly she has it.  _Literally_  has it. A magic license in her hands. 

Marinette lets out a small squeak of excitement. She did it! She actually did it! Chat Noir was right! The two hundred and thirty-eighth time  _was_ the lucky charm! 

“Miss, if you don’t have your magic license-”

“I have it right here!” She pulls it out from behind her back. Vellum, calligraphy, red wax and all. “Magic license,” she says, probably very unconvincingly. 

One of the Magic Policemen takes her conjured magic license. Looks at it for a second, then hands it back to her. Nodding his head at her, then at his partner, he tells her, “Well, miss, seems like your neighbors were mistaken. We’ll be on our way now. Sorry for the bother.”

They leave, shutting the door behind them. She waits approximately three minutes for them to have walked far away before jumping up and down and squealing in glee. 

* * *

The next day, she happily continues her magic lessons once again, smug grin on her face. There’s only one thing that could ebb her good mood, however. And it’s Chat Noir’s smirk that he’s been having since yesterday.

 _“What?”_  she asks caustically. 

“Nothing.” He laughs. “I just can’t believe you managed to get out of being arrested for doing something illegal by doing something even  _more_ illegal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! And thank you so much for all the comments and kudos! I literally couldn't stop smiling for four hours after receiving each comment, they were all so sweet! Feel free to leave more and add more suggestions! I'm not sure how long this story will be, but the way it's turning out, it doesn't seem like it'll last more than ten chapters. But it's a joy to write and hopefully it's a joy for you to read! <3


	5. Literally Just a Pile of Bread

He's impressed. Very impressed, actually.

It's been at least two weeks since the entire magic license debacle and thankfully, she's gotten her license since then. And it only took two days of reprimanding, admonishing looks from both sides, and him having to physically turn into his anthropomorphic form and dragging her to the High Mage himself.

Honestly speaking, it didn't take much to persuade her to get the license.

And  _sure,_ she might have only barely passed the exam by almost decimating the ministry chambers when told to create a small flame.  _Yes,_ she might have somehow flooded the City Hall when told to fill an empty pitcher with water.  _But_ she passed, she legally has her license, and that's all that matters.

Because now, they can continue their magic lessons without fear of the magic police.

And speaking of magic lessons, she's gotten along far more quickly with her magicking abilities. Maybe because he's learned from his mistakes last time and actually  _told_ her that the spells she's learning are difficult to master.

But it also turns out that she's far more adept at magic originating from the Eastern Kingdom. "Probably because my mother's from the Eastern Kingdom," she had said.

Well, Adrien, being born and raised in the Western Kingdom normally wouldn't have known anything about Eastern magic. You know, assuming he was _normal._  But he's Adrien Agreste. He's the greatest wizard in all the seven kingdoms. He possesses the most powerful magic the world has seen in centuries. He's stopped wars, advised kings, almost  _became_ a-

Well, okay, he probably shouldn't go onto his spiel for the third time. You probably get the point by now, anyway.

Although, if you  _really_ wouldn't mind hearing about his adventures again, then-

* * *

Marinette has no idea what he's doing. Well, she does, actually, know what he's doing, but don't bother asking her  _why._ And  _no,_ she's not staring. Definitely not.

Sure, she'll admit that. objectively speaking, Chat Noir is pretty handsome and not too bad to look at. But he'd also be better looking if he would just stop talking to himself. Rambling, even.

The cat-person claims he's advised kings before. She sincerely doubts it. He also tells himself that he's a great wizard, possibly the best that's ever lived. Marinette can't help but roll her eyes.  _Please._ That spot is reserved for the one, the only, Adrien Agreste. No way would this alley cat be any better than him.

She coughs, gaining his attention. The cat-person stops mid-sentence, mouth still agape. He turns toward her, gives her a blank stare before turning red with embarrassment.

"Oh, right." Chat Noir awkwardly rubs the nape of his neck. "Time to start the lesson. Sorry, my lady."

 _It was about_ time  _he noticed,_ she thinks, arms crossed.

He, too, coughs, clearing his throat. "Well, uhm, today I'm going to teach you another spell famous in the Eastern Kingdom. It's similar to conjuring, but unlike it, you don't need to think of every specific detail of the object you're creating."

"So…" Her face scrunches in confusion. "It's basically not at  _all_ like conjuring."

"Well, no. You do technically  _conjure_  - create - an object in this case, but in this spell, the conjuration isn't defined by what you decide. This spell is characterized by you having an absolute need for something, the universe creating for you the manifestation of those desires."

"What?"

"It's most helpful in times of danger or crisis."

"Uh-"

"The spell's called Lucky Charm, if that clears up any confusion."

"…Not really."

Adrien rubs his temples. Does he want to continue attempting to explain the concept, or just have her  _do_ it?

Then again, Marinette's proven that she's better at learning by  _doing,_ so he should probably go with the latter option.

"Okay." He takes her arms and raises them up. "Just think about something you need. Not any specific  _object,_ but more like a  _concept_  of what you need."

Marinette has no clue what he's talking about.  _Speak proper French, Chat Noir,_ she thinks. But still, she closes her eyes, tries to clear her mind of anything non-abstract.

Something she needs. No, the  _conceptualization_ of what she needs. She digs into the deepest recesses of her brain.

_Need? Currently, she doesn't actually need anything. Not shelter, not occupation…nothing._

Her stomach growls.

_Food! She needs food! Okay, Marinette, that's the concept you desire. Food. Food…Wait! Is she hallucinating or does she smell bread right now? Sweet, warm bread…Wow, she could really go for some bread. Just imagine the thick, crunchy exterior enveloping the soft, delicious center. Bread…_

Something falls on her head. Followed by something else. She opens her eyes, looks up.

And squeals.

* * *

Bread.  _Bread._ Bread here, bread there. Bread  _everywhere._ Just appearing in midair and plunging straight to the floor.

Adrien  _knows_  she hadn't done the spell properly. Lucky Charm is only supposed to summon  _one_ object, not  _two hundred._

"Bread!" Marinette jumps in glee, attempting to catch all the falling objects of sustenance. "There's so much!"

Adrien simply stares at her in amazement. The girl must be in bread heaven. Honestly, he will  _never_ understand her obsession with bread. Sure, her father might have been a baker, but  _Adrien's_ dad was a mage, and it's not like  _he_ -

Oh. Well, point taken.

But even  _if_ Adrien followed his dad's footsteps into magic and magecraft,  _Marinette_  takes her interest in her father's business to a new level altogether.

She's created a pile of bread.  _Literally just a pile of bread._ And he's sure she would be dancing on it, too, except she probably respects bread too much to do that.

"Hey-"

"If I charge each person three dollars per bread-"

"Marinette-"

"-I could make at least six hundred dollars!" Marinette squeals in delight, hugging all the bread she can carry.

He's done. Absolutely done. Gingerly taking Marinette's elbow, he drags her to the cottage door. "Go outside," he commands. "And don't come back until you've sufficiently calmed down. Clearly, we're not going to be getting anything done while this-" He points at all the bread in her arms. "-is going on."

"Great!" She's bouncing in excitement. "Bye!"

She runs off. He sighs.

* * *

Bread.  _Bread._ She's never been happier.

Literally. She's skipping down the streets because she's so happy. So far, she's managed to charge three city suckers the inflated price of  _five_  dollars per loaf of bread, earning her fifteen dollars.  _Fifteen!_  That's more than she makes for  _seven hours_  of painful sewing.

And this bread only costed her some magic and eight minutes of hardcore selling.

She lopes down the street, loaves of bread in hand, humming to herself. A pair of women walk past her, making her stop in place.

"Excuse me!" She waves at them. "Would you like to buy some bread?" Marinette asks, showing off her collection.

One of the women awkwardly smiles. "No thanks, mademoiselle." The woman turns towards her companion. "Do you want any?" But the other woman merely shakes her head, politely declining.

Disappointed, Marinette prepares to continue walking down the street, in hopes for someone else to hail down and convince to buy her bread. She just about takes a step when-

"Wait!" One of the lady calls out. "Don't go that way!"

Marinette swivels around again, grin on her face. Got to present a selling face to the customer, after all. "Did you change your mind?" she asks, holding out a croissant.

"No."

Marinette's smile drops.

"In the direction you're going, there's been rumors of a thief. He's been terrorizing merchants lately, stealing all their wares and… _wait!_ Young lady, where are you going?"

Marinette walks off, rolling her eyes. Like she actually  _cares_ about any thieves. After all, what were the chances that he would steal from  _her?_ She doesn't have much more than  _bread._

_Well, then again, she's been tempted to steal bread before…_

But this is a high-class thief she's talking about; why would he want any  _bread?_

* * *

It's been approximately half an hour now and she's managed to convince exactly  _zero_ more people to buy her bread.

Guess she lucked out with the first three.

Sighing, Marinette dejectedly continues to walk down the street, hugging her bread to her chest. How did she manage to convince those first three to buy her bread? Well, more like how did she  _not_ convince the latter twenty people to buy her bread? It's  _bread._ Bread is  _delicious._

Now fuming, Marinette begins to trudge around in civil disobedience. If a young, poor-looking girl with the smile of an angel came up to her and offered her  _bread_ for possibly the over-priced charge of five dollars, of  _course_ Marinette would buy it. It's  _bread._ Not to mention that-

And then it happens. A pigeon  _descends_ from the heavens above and  _snatches_  about a  _sixth_  of her bread in its contaminated beak and  _flies away_. Leaving her stunned.

That is, until she finally gets it together and begins calculating the math. If Marinette charges five dollars per loaf of bread, and an impure pigeon just stole one-sixth of it, how much profit does Marinete lose?

Exactly eighty-three cents, that  _heathen._

"Hey!" she yells, pumping her fist in the air. "Give me back my bread!"

Unfortunately, the pigeon cannot understand French. Or, if it does, it simply ignores her, flapping away on its vile wings.

And so Marinette does what  _any_ reasonable person would do in such a situation:

She chases after the foul fowl.

* * *

She doesn't know how long she's been running, but it's definitely been a  _long_ time. So long, in fact, that she's gotten herself utterly lost.

In the woods.

Alone.

With only bread.

Marinette fights her way against the branches and underbrush, forcing her way into a clearing.

And guess who - or what - is in the clearing.

That's right, the  _pigeon._ Eating. The bread.

Marinette is teeming with anger now.  _First,_  the thing stole her bread.  _Then,_  it got her lost. And  _now,_  it's relishing its victory by munching on its stolen delicacy.

If Marinette were any more infuriated, she would have marched up to the bird and ripped the crumbs straight from its beak.

Except it would probably fly away as soon as it hears her.

So Marinette stands there, unsure what to do. To get her bread back or not, that is the question. Who is she  _kidding,_ that's  _not_ a question; she's  _getting_ her bread back, no  _buts._

But ( _darn it_ ) how?

Something shuffles behind her. A few branches snap on the forest floor.

She stares at the bird, attempting to will it to drop the bread. "Drop it," she murmurs. "Just drop it, you disgusting-"

"Boo."

Marinette squeaks, instinctively running a few steps forward. Something just  _breathed_ in her  _ear._ Against her better judgment, she looks behind her, only to be met with…

Some man. In skin-tight clothing. In the color palette of a  _pigeon._

Anthropomorphic men must follow her  _everywhere._

"It is I, Monsieur Pigeon." The pigeon-man cackles. "Notorious thief, here to steal all your valuables!"

Valuables? She doesn't have any valuables. Except bread. But bread is  _too_ valuable. Clutching her bread, Marinette looks at him and he looks back…at her bread.

Oh. Oh no.

Ensue an interaction that can only be concisely summarized as:

* * *

Monsieur Pigeon would like to battle!

Marinette tried to run away! You cannot run away from a battle!

Marinette used "Desperately Fling Money."

Marinette throws fifteen dollars at Monsieur Pigeon.

…But it had no effect!

Monsieur Pigeon used "Summon."

Monsieur Pigeon summons a horde of pigeons!

Marinette is confused! Marinette hurts herself in her confusion!

* * *

She's surrounded by a hundred pigeons. A hundred pigeons  _lustily gazing at her bread, those heathens._

She looks around, trying to find an escape. But in her confusion, her arms accidentally loosen, two things landing on her feet.

Marinette looks down. To two fallen comrades. Two dishonored soldiers that she had desperately attempted to save from the horrors of this battle.

Two loaves of  _bread._

Marinette screams. Closing her eyes, she calls out, "Chat Noir, get your  _butt_ over here."

A small yet distinct  _poof,_ and a puff of air. Marinette opens her eyes to see Chat Noir appear in midair and then land - quite gracefully - on his feet. He bows in her direction and smirks. "My lady."

Marinette scowls. Pointing a baguette at the Pigeon-Man, she tells Chat Noir, "Sic him."

The cat-person obeys, claws out and poised for attack, running off towards the direction of the pigeon man. But not without unneeded commentary: "I'm a cat, not a dog, my lady."

She rolls her eyes, a vein busting in her absolute irritation. She looks around at all the pigeons in the air. Still lustily gazing at her bread.

She  _needs_ to distract them. She  _needs_ to get them away. Need.

Need?

Need!

Closing her eyes once again, Marinette thinks. Asks the universe for help. She needs something to get those pigeons away from her. Something.  _Anything._

Something appears in her hands. She opens her eyes.

It's a strawberry.

Marinette's eye twitches. A strawberry. A  _strawberry._ What can she do with a lowly  _strawberry._

She looks up at the pigeons. Back down at her single berry. Back up. Back down.

Oh,  _that's_ what she can do with the strawberry.

"Hey, pigeons!" she yells, waving one of her arms in the air, the other still holding some bread. "Look at this!" She holds up the strawberry as high as she can. And then chucks it deep into the woods. "Fetch!"

A swarm of pigeons, a cacophony of cooing, and suddenly all the pigeons are gone, flying after the strawberry.

Marinette grins. Proud of her handiwork, she walks up to the two fighting animal-people. Chat Noir is successfully parrying the Pigeon Man's blows, even landing a punch every now and then.

But Marinette doesn't care. Not at all. As soon as she gets up to them, she all but  _shoves_ Chat Noir out of her way, all while fluidly tripping the Pigeon-Man.

"Wha-What?" The Pigeon-Man lands on his butt, and looks around, noticing for the first time that he is without his army of pigeons. "Where did they go?" he asks.

Marinette glares at him. "They're gone."

"But-"

"Gone."

Something inside of the Pigeon-Man must have broken then, his eyes dimming in the realization. "Without my pigeons…I am nothing." His voice cracks. "Nothing."

Marinette crosses her arms, leans in to him so that they're face to face. "Look, you can take my money. You can take my dignity. You can even take this-" She jabs her thumb towards the direction of Chat Noir. "- _cat-person_ for all I care. But you do  _not_ take my  _bread."_ She enunciates the final few words, making sure he understands.

And surely enough he does, as the Pigeon-Man nods slowly in fear.

"Good." Marinette smiles. "Now, if you would kindly show us our way out of these woods-"

"What's your name?" The Pigeon-Man interjects. "You defeated me; I must know your name."

Marinette blankly stares at him.

Name. Name. She needs a  _name._ If she says "Marinette," there's a chance that he's going to turn her in for terrorizing his pigeons or something. Pigeon cruelty has become a serious issue in the past few months, after all.

Name. Name. Uh…she looks around in desperation. Well, there's the sky. Some clouds floating in it. A bunch of trees to the west and east and…south…and north. Basically trees everywhere. Blades of grass. And some flowers. And leaves.  _Wait_ , what's that on that blade of grass? The one over there, next to the pink flower. It's a-

"Ladybug!" she exclaims.

"…"

"…"

"…"

Darn it, she probably should've looked around longer.

"Your name is…Ladybug?" the Pigeon Man asks, eyebrow raising in disbelief.

"Yes," she says, trailing off with increasing hesitance. "My name…is Lady…bug."

"Well-"

Inwardly, Marinette scowls.  _Look, you're a_ man _dressed as a_ pigeon _. You have no right to judge here._

The Pigeon-Man blinks and repeats whatever it was he was trying to say. "Well, uh, Ladybug. It seems you have defeated me. And-"

Marinette walks away. Turns out that all he wanted to say was a useless "You have defeated me - a  _supervillain!"_ spiel.

_Boring._

Beside her, Chat Noir turns back into a cat, prancing along beneath her. Behind her, she can hear a dozen pigeons flapping their wings, probably coming back to their fallen master.

But Marinette doesn't care. In true 'triumphant hero' fashion, she dramatically raises a baguette to her mouth, taking a bite of victory.

And then spits it out.

The bread is  _disgusting._ It's inedible  _at best._ Like sad, gritty sand caked on her tongue. No  _wonder_ no one wanted to buy it, other than those first three poor souls.

Tears collecting in her eyes, Marinette throws all her bread back to the pigeons and the Pigeon-Man, all of them cooing in delight and rushing towards it.

Dejected, Marinette wanders back to town, with only one thing in mind: She is the world's biggest insult to bread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter sounds a little rushed. I felt so bad about not updating last week that I kind of rushed to publish this. I did look over everything at least once though, but I still might come back and edit this tomorrow. I just wanted to get this out as soon as possible for all of you who have patiently waited for the update! Thank you so much! I do take all your suggestions to heart and try to incorporate whatever I can as much as I can, so feel free to continue commenting what you would like to see! And please feel free to leave some comments, because they seriously make my day! Thank you!


	6. He Deserves Pun-Ishment For This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to the glorious catkings for giving me the permission to use your puns! Truly, you are the king of puns.

They’re back. 

_Surprise, witch. I bet you thought you’ve seen the last of us._

The Magic Police are  _back_. And they’re here. At her door. Right in front of her. And she would shut the door right in front of their face, too, if it wasn’t for the fact that doing so would prompt an immediate arrest. 

Marinette smiles awkwardly, gives a polite wave to the officers albeit shakily. They look at her with an un-amused expression clear on their faces. 

What could the Magic Police want with her  _this_ time? Did they catch onto her imitation magic license? Or did the Monsieur Pigeon Man finally file a complaint against her? Or is it the-

No. 

It can’t be. 

Not the Raspberry Blackmail Incident. 

She apprehensively looks up at the two officers. They continue to look at her with disinterest. 

It  _has_ to be the Raspberry Blackmail Incident. It’s just gotta. 

“Look, officers, I can explain!” She clasps her hands together, gets down on her knees, feels the beginning of tears forming in her eyes. “It wasn’t on purpose! I was just desperate for some bread and I heard of a way to get some for chea-p.” Her voice cracks. “But it wasn’t cheap enough and eventually I found myself in a ring of-”

They stare at her, their pupils suddenly dilated in shock. Clearly, this information was new to them, and if Marinette had even half a brain, she would shut her mouth now. 

Well, Marinette would like to think that at the very least she has about  _three-fourths_  of a brain, so she immediately shuts her mouth and metaphorically seals it. 

The Magic Police  _really_  don’t need to be hearing about her shameful episode of illegal berry dealing. 

“Uh…” One of the officers opens his mouth, but only lets out an incomprehensible grunt. His eyebrows furrow in confusion. “We were going to speak to you of another matter entirely, but if you would like to elaborate on your previous statement-”

“No, officer.” Marinette vigorously shakes her head. “I don’t.”

“Well, I would insist-”

“And so do I.”

They stare deep into each other’s eyes, false smiles plastered on both their faces. Tension hangs thick in the air, neither of them willing to crack.  

The other officer - the one watching the two adversaries beginning to glare at each other - coughs. “Miss…Dupain-Cheng, I believe.” The officer nods at his companion, probably a signal for the other to let go of the topic. “We came to discuss another matter altogether and we do not intend to be led astray from our assignment.”

Marinette sighs in relief, releasing a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. 

“But do not be mistaken; we will not be dropping your subject altogether.”

Marinette focuses her attention on  _this_ officer now, a glower forming on her face. Contrary to her initial belief,  _this_  officer was no better than the first; he just used prettier vocabulary. 

Which makes her hate him even more, actually. 

“Miss Dupain-Cheng, have you heard of the local witch, Ladybug?” The officer looks at her, and something about his tone tells her that he knows more than he’s letting on. 

“Yes,” Marinette replies, folding her arms. “Why?”

“Well, we’ve heard accounts from the local villagers that-” The officer gets out a list. A list so long that the end of it literally drops to the floor and unravels,  _still,_  a few centimeters. “-she’s saved children from burning buildings, stopped the most wanted thief from terrorizing anymore merchants, defeated three ogres, turned the troll under the bridge into a toad, then turned that toad into a ant when it continued harassing the villagers, then locked away the ant when it began stealing food, then stepped on it by accident when it escaped the cage because the cage was too big for it, then nearly got arrested by the Department of Inter-Species Amity for first degree murder until she was-”

“-bailed out by the local villagers, I know.” Marinette rolls her eyes. The only reason why they bailed her out was because Ladybug had become their go-to source for bread. Turns out, all the villagers here have broken taste-buds. 

“Well, we have reason to suspect Ladybug to be you,” says the officer. 

A split second of silence. 

_What?_

Marinette blinks.

_How?_

Marinette gulps.

_When?_

Marinete squeaks.

_What?_

Marinette stares at the officers in shock. 

How did they  _know?_  No one was supposed to  _know._  She’s been hiding her tracks. Discarding all the crumbs from her house. Tried her best to remain quiet about this entire persona altogether. She’s even made an entire  _costume_ and  _mask_ for alter-ego, Ladybug. Like full-on costume, as in  _thirty-seven_ hours of painful sewing and labor. Forty-six polka dots and eight-hundred-ninety-six- _million_ -seven-hundred-twenty-five- _thousand_ -nine-hundred-forty-three stitches  _exactly._

 _(‘Exactly,_ ’ who is she kidding, honestly. Take that number and give or take three hundred thousand.)

“Officer.” She laughs nervously. “What makes you think that I’m Ladybug?” She tries her best to not look suspicious. But she’s physically shaking and her voice is wavering, how can she  _not_ look suspicious right now?

“We’ve traced Ladybug’s whereabouts to this exact-”

“Actually, when we came her to ask for the whereabouts of Ladybug, all the local villagers pointed to this house,” the first officer interjects. 

The  _villagers?_ Marinette gapes, just a little. She thought they were the most  _clueless_ about the situation. “What-”

“They say that Ladybug is the only baker in town, but the smell of bread is always coming from this cottage.”

“Officer, that doesn’t mean that I’m  _Ladybug.”_ Marinette tries her best to wave off his allegation. “That just means that I’m a fan of bread-”

“And they say that you’re the only one naive enough to think the bread is for eating.”

“…Excuse me, what-”

“The villagers claim that the bread is as hard as rocks and make excellent doorstoppers and cheap substitutes for bricks.”

What.

What?

Excuse-

Marinette’s eye twitches. 

That’s it. She’s  _leaving._  

“Officers.” She forces a smile. “It’s true, I’m Ladybug. Indict me, arrest me, or do whatever you need to by federal law.” She turns around and yells, “Chat Noir! Get out here. We’re leaving!  _Now!”_

* * *

She’s been sitting in this carriage for days. 

Well, okay, it’s only been seven hours but the sound of horse hooves will never leave her ears again. 

For the fifth time, Marinette sticks her head out the window and yells to the carriage driver, “Are we there yet?” 

“Not yet,” he yells back. “We’re going to need a few more hours!”

The two officers, sitting opposite of her, begin to pale. 

“Please!” one of them cries. “Hurry! She keeps conjuring bread and making us eat-” He gags, eyes bulge out and hand flies to his mouth. In one second, his face flushes from white to a morbid green. 

The other officer doesn’t even speak; he just curls up, hangs his head in his lap and clasps his hand together in prayer that she stops feeding him bread. 

Marinette places her head in her hand. Frowns. Snaps her fingers. “Castle of the Western Kingdom,” she says.

* * *

One of the officers lopes off into the distance. “Praise the almighty gods!” he screams. “No more breaaaaaaaaaaaaadddd!” Just from his voice alone, she knows there are tears of joy streaming down his face. 

His comrade, on the other hand, has fallen. Literally. Head planted face-down on the ground. “Sweet, sweet Earth.” He actually deigns to kiss the dirt. “I’m never leaving you for a carriage again.”

Marinette stares at the officer in disgust. Beside her, Chat Noir assumes his humanoid form. 

“Why didn’t you just teleport us all here seven hours ago?” Chat Noir asks.

Marinette huffs. “Well, I didn’t  _think_ of doing it seven hours ago. I could only think about bread.”

Chat Noir quirks an eyebrow. “For seven straight hours?”

“I could have gone for eight but they started whining.” Marinette pouts. Pointing at the looming castle before them, she says, “Come on, kitty. Let’s go in and see what they want with Ladybug.”

* * *

The throne room is magnificent. Large, violet curtains drape around a circular, stained-glass window depicting the first king of the Western Kingdom. Fragmented light cascades onto a singular throne. 

And there’s silence. 

Deafening silence. 

“Uh-” Marinette hesitates, trying to remember what the proper courtesy is for addressing the King. Stumbling into a curtsy, she manages to say, “Your Highness.”

The King regards her with a condescending look. “And who might  _you_ be?” His voice echoes across the empty room. 

“Marine-” Marinette shakes her head, correcting herself. “Ladybug, Your Highness. I am Ladybug.”

“Ah, Ladybug.” The King strokes his chin. “The witch that has so suddenly risen into fame. Do you know why you have been summoned here?”

“No, Your Highness.”

The King straightens himself, assuming a more official posture. “As you must know, the Grand Mage Adrien Agreste has been missing for months. The Seven High Standing Mages have been sorely missing on of their own.” Suddenly, he points his royal staff at her. “As such, after hearing of your achievements, we have summoned you to our court as an invitation to join them.”  

Marinette is at a loss for words. 

Substitute for Adrien? As in  _Adrien Agreste?_

No.

No one can substitute for him. 

She doesn’t care if it’s  _her._ She doesn’t care if it’s the _King._ She doesn’t care even if they offered her  _bread_ for this role. 

She’s.

Not.

Doing.

This.

Adrien does not deserve this. 

But before she can refuse, a piercing screech suddenly rings. 

“Daddy!” A blonde girl about her age rushes into the throne room, a train of her yellow gown trailing behind her. “What do you  _mean_ Adrien Agreste is still  _missing?_ We’re  _engaged.”_ The girl’s voice is so shrill that Marinette has to fight the urge to cover her ears. Except she’s too shocked by this news to care about her hearing. “I can’t be  _engaged_ to a someone who’s  _missing._ How are we going to get married like  _this?_  Do you expect me to kiss the air and make vows to  _nothing?”_

Marinette scowls. She’s heard rumors of this girl, but she’s never thought it could be  _this_ bad. 

Turns out, it’s exactly  _that_ bad. 

Marinette, meet Chloe. Princess to the Western Kingdom. Apparent fiance of Adrien Agreste. All around terrible person. 

And speak of the (very literal) devil, Princess Chloe finally notices Marinette standing right next to her. Delicately sniffing the air, the Princess pinches her nose. “Daddy!” she exclaims. “What is this  _peasant_ doing here?” She says ‘peasant’ like one would say ‘vomit.’ 

“This ‘peasant’ is Ladybug,” the King calmly replies. “For the time being, she will be the third mage of the Seven High Standings.” 

“But…but…that’s  _Adrien’s_ seat,” the Princess screeches. “You can’t just _give_ his seat  _away.”_

If this goes on any longer, Marinette is going to have to be physically restrained from slapping the Princess and being charged of treason. Just to spite the Princess, Marinette faces the King and declares, “I accept the position.”

* * *

Marinette has never regretted a decision more. 

Paperwork upon paperwork upon stack of paperwork upon more paperwork upon the occasional speech founded upon  _so much paperwork._

How did Adrien Agreste ever  _do_ this? It’s the most boring job in the  _world._  

And just to add more salt to her irritation, Chat Noir has been sulking for the past three days. Basically, ever since she was offered Adrien’s seat. 

She’s tried asking him what’s wrong but it’s nothing’s come of it. Just a drawn-out sigh every time. 

Thus she’s concluded that Chat Noir must be going through some sort of phase. 

And because she can’t handle his angst-ridden-teenager-phase, Marinette has done what anyone would do: take him on a stroll along the castle garden to crush his sadness.

Except, she thinks she might have failed. Turns out, Chat Noir might be a  _little_ allergic to pollen.

Beside her, he sneezes. 

Check that,  _a lot_ allergic. 

 _Well,_  Marinette has to assure herself,  _maybe his allergies are a good thing. Maybe he can_ sneeze _the sadness away._

“Come on, kitty.” She grabs his hand. “Let’s keep walking.”

* * *

Adrien is pouting. A lot. 

She took his seat without even the slightest bit of hesitation. 

It was  _his_ seat.  _His._ And he’s not normally possessive of his things, but that seat and position was one of his greatest motivations to break the curse. It was his sole comfort at night, knowing that he was still regarded as one of the most powerful wizards in the kingdom. 

But now everything’s taken away. 

Now he’s just a familiar. Some weird anthropomorphic figure. 

Just Chat Noir.  

And to go off on a tangent and bring up an entirely different point, Marinette probably thinks he’s engaged to Chloe, which is the most disgusting misunderstanding ever to be misunderstood. 

And speaking of the (all too literal) devil, there Chloe comes in her favorite pee-yellow gown. 

* * *

“Marinette!” she coos. “My least favorite peasant~”

Marinette huffs. “Princess,  _all_ peasants are your least favorite peasant.”

“But you’re my  _least_ least favorite!” The Princess throws up her head and laughs at her apparent joke. 

Marinette would fold her arms but such would be considered disrespectful. Marinette would also walk away but she can apparently be arrested for doing that to the Princess. 

Marinette would know. She’s been already arrested for that twice. Today. 

And because it’s only the morning, Marinette can only scowl and ball her hands into tiny fists. “Why, Princess, I’m honored.”

“Of course you are!” Princess Chloe giggles. Suddenly her face falls and she glares at Marinette. “I know you like Adrien Agreste,  _peasant.”_ She flips her pee-blonde hair. “But don’t get too arrogant just because  _you’re_ filling in for his seat. After all, the seat is only yours until we find him. Which-” She takes a step towards Marinette, her heels clicking on the stoned path. “-mark my words, we  _will._ And when we do,  _I_ will be marrying him because we’re  _engaged._ And-” The Princess leans in now, until her and Marinette’s foreheads are touching, until Marinette can see every last pimple the Princess had attempted to hide with makeup. “-there’s nothing _you_  and your  _silly little crush_ can  _do_ about it.” She abruptly pulls out, standing upright once more. Placing her hand at her heart, she declares, “After all,  _I_ am the  _Princess_ of the Western Kingdom and _you_ are but a lowly  _peasant.”_ Throwing up her head once more, the Princess leaves, laughing to herself the entire time. 

When the Princess is all but a speck in the distance, Marinette stamps her foot. “Adrien has good grades, good spellcraft, good looks, good  _everything_ but apparently  _not_  good taste in  _women.”_ She throws her hands up in exasperation, letting out an incoherent scream. 

Beside her, Adrien  _would_ retort that he has  _great_ taste in women, except he realizes that the only women he’s ever interacted with was,  _indeed,_ the Princess. And also Marinette, but he’s somewhat convinced she’s some sort of humanoid loaf of bread. 

No normal person loves bread  _that_  much. 

So instead of denying her assertion, Adrien can only tell her: “Marinette, I know that the Princess irritates you, but I can assure you that she and Adrien aren’t engaged.”

Marinette snorts. “Well that’s not what the  _Princess_ says.”

“The Princess says a lot of things, Marinette.”

“I  _know._ It’s what makes her so  _annoying.”_

“Well, how about this.” The most sinister grin suddenly creeps up his face as he explains to her his plan.

* * *

They’ve been at this spell for nearly two hours and Marinette is starting to wonder whether or not it’s worth it. 

Well, actually, if can get that royal brat to shut up about Adrien, then it’s going to be all  _too_ worth it. 

As she stirs the small elixir in her hand, the violet solution begins to bubble. Turning to look at her familiar, she asks, “Remind me  _exactly_ what this will do to her.”

“Well, just think of it like an  _anti-_ love potion: she’ll come to hate the first thing she sees.”

“Wait.” Marinette sets down the elixir. “How is  _that_ going to work? Adrien is  _missing.”_

Oh, right. Adrien forgot he was missing. 

Trying to collect himself again, he laughs awkwardly. “Just showing her a picture of him should suffice.” 

“Oh. Well…” Marinette make a move towards her briefcase. 

“Don’t tell me you brought a picture of him with you.”

Marinette pouts. “I didn’t bring  _a_ picture.” She holds up five fingers. “I brought  _five.”_

Like _that_ makes it any better. 

Marinette refocuses her attention on the task at hand. But this time, as she makes another motion towards her briefcase, she stumbles, knocking the elixir.

Making it fly right towards her familiar’s face. 

Reflexively, she swipes it from midair before it can shatter on his nose, but that doesn’t stop a few droplets of the potion from spilling into his gaping mouth. 

“Chat Noir!” she squeaks. “Are you okay?”

He stares at her blankly in shock. But then he glares at her, licks his lips in search of the remaining drops. “I’ve never been better.” He grins.

And then he transforms into a cat and pounces out the window. 

* * *

If there was an award for World’s Worst Familiar, Marinette would nominate hers. 

It’s been three days and Chat Noir hasn’t gotten over hating her. When he isn’t blatantly avoiding her, he’s scowling at her in disgust. When he isn’t ignoring her, he’s caustically insulting her. 

Not to mention that the other day she saw Chat Noir kissing the Princess’ hand and calling her “My Lady.” 

Just thinking about that makes Marinette’s heart pang. That name was reserved only for  _her._ It was  _his_ special nickname for  _her._

Not to mention that the thief of the title is Royal-Pain-in-the-Butt herself. 

And so, after two days of labor, gathering ingredients from the garden, and being called a “Dirty Peasant” by  _both_ Chat Noir and the Princess (at different intervals, too), Marinette has finally created an antidote. And once the solution has settled and cleared, Marinette swipes it from the table and walks out the castle garden. 

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she murmurs, searching for a familiar black tail. “I have something for you, kitty.”

Above her, the leaves rustle. The next thing she knows, Chat Noir is facing her. 

Apparently, hating her means he likes to climb trees now. 

“And what do  _mew_ want?” he asks. 

Apparently, hating her also means he likes to  _pun_ now. 

“Chat-”

“You know,” he interrupts, holding up a hand. “I know what you’re doing and it won’t work. See, I actually  _like_ myself better this way.” He yawns. “Now I don’t have to hang around you and your disgusting bread anymore.”

Marinette has to summon all her willpower not to fling her two days of agonizing labor on the dirt and walk away. 

 _It’s okay, Marinette,_ she has to tell herself.  _That’s just the potion speaking._

Well, it  _better_ be just the potion speaking. 

“What even makes you think you have the  _ryt-e_ to force me to submit to your will? You don’t even know what you’re  _doughing_ half the time.” He crosses his arms and rolls his eyes. “I  _cat_ even believe that while  _I_ worked hard every day to teach you magic, you would just  _loaf_ around half the time.”

This is an utter cat-astrophe.

Because Chat Noir is actually making a good point, here. 

But mostly because he’s using bread for his dirty, dirty puns. 

“I mean-” he continues. “-the  _yeast_ you could do was give me a simple thank-you every now and then. But no, you could never  _wheat_ to just go on another excursion and order me around to do your every bidding.” He huffs. “Well no  _s’more._ And…and-” For the first time, Chat Noir hesitates, finally giving Marinette the chance she needs. 

Marinette glares at Chat Noir. “There’s no more bread puns left for you to use. So it’s down to you, and it is down to me.”

“Oh.” He holds up a hand to halt her. “If you wish your defeat, by all means, move forward.” He smirks, baring his rather nonthreatening buck teeth. “I’m _bread-y_  for anything.”

When this is all over, Marinette’s going to have to cast a Pun Preventing Hex on him, because she can’t  _handle_  these  _crumb-y, half-baked_   “jokes” anymo-

She just…did she just…convert to the pun side?

Oh, he deserves pun-ishment for this. 

Incredibly irritated at everything from the universe to herself now, Marinette points at Chat Noir. “Look, let me explain something-”

“There’s nothing to explain.” Chat Noir rolls his eyes and Marinette has to bite her lip to prevent herself from physically having a go at the ungrateful familiar. “You’re trying to kidnap the feelings I rightfully have,” Chat Noir continues. 

Marinette glowers. “Perhaps an arrangement can be met.”

“There’s no arrangement.” He smiles with condescension. She returns it with her own sickeningly sweet smile. 

“Well, if there can be no arrangement, then I’m afraid we’re at an impasse.” 

“I’m afraid so. I can’t compete with you magically, and you’re no match for my  _brains.”_ He stresses the last part, making sure to stare right at her and let his insinuation sink in. 

“You’re…” She twitches in disbelief of the next few words that are about to escape her lips. “You’re that smart?”

“Haha, well let me put it this way.” His grin grows ever wider. “Ever heard of Monsieur Damocles? Madame Bustier? Madame Mendeleiev?”

“Yes.”

“Fools.” He swats away an imaginary pestilence of their pseudo-intelligence. 

“Really?” Marinette quirks an eyebrow, unconvinced. “In that case, I challenge you to a battle of wits.”

“For my original personality? To the death?”

“Not to the death.”

Still, he gives her a Well-It-Doesn’t-Matter-Because-My-Brain-Is-Superior-To-Yours look. “Then I accept.”

“Good.” She conjures a low table complete with two cups and a pitcher of water. “Then pour the water.”

To her surprise, Chat Noir actually obeys her this time. As he does so, Marinette reaches into the folds of her dress and takes out the antidote vial. She shows it to him. “Inhale this, but do not touch,” she instructs.

He sniffs, then frowns in confusion. “I smell nothing.”

“What you do not smell is the antidote.” As she speaks, her mind races a mile a minute. It’s a good thing he can’t smell anything; maybe she  _can_ win this. “It is odorless, tasteless, and-” She shakes the vial. “-colorless.”

Snatching the two cups from Chat Noir’s hands, she turns her back to him and pours the antidote. Once satisfied, she tuns back towards him, placing one cup in front of her, the other in front of him. “Alright. Where is the antidote?” She gestures at the cups. “The battle of wits has begun. It ends when you decide and we both drink and find out who is right and who is antidote-d…” She cringes at her inability to properly utilize her vocabulary.  

He looks at her. A deep chuckle emerges from him as if to create tremors in the earth. “But it’s so simple!” he exclaims. “All I have to do is divine from what I know of  _you!_  Are you the sort of person who would put the poison into  _her_ own goblet or her  _enemy’s?_ ” He chuckles again. “Now, a  _clever_  person would put the poison into their own goblet because they would know that only a great  _fool_  would reach for what he has been given. I-” He puts a hand to his chest, tilts his head slightly to emphasize his apparent genius. “-am  _not_  a great fool so clearly I  _cannot_  choose the cup in front of  _you_. But you-” He points an accusing finger at her now. “-must have known that I was not a great fool. You would have counted on it so I can  _clearly_  not choose the cup in front of me!”

She blinks. “You’ve made your decision then-”

“Not remotely!” Marinette swears his disgusting grin is taking up at least half his face now. And, still grinning, he continues to rant, “Because most of the ingredients for the antidote comes from the Waterfront Kingdom, as everyone  _knows_. And the Waterfront Kingdom is entirely peopled with _criminals_. And criminals are used to having people not trust them as  _you_  are not trusted by me, so I can  _clearly_  not choose the cup in front of  _you!_ ” He leans back, somehow satisfied with his deduction. 

Marinette, on the other hand, is still trying to wrap her head on his reference to the Waterfront Kingdom. “Truly you have a dizzying intellect-”

“Wait ‘til i get going!” He uncharacteristically giggles. “Where was I?”

“The Waterfront Kingdom.”

“Yes, the Waterfront Kingdom.” He points an accusing finger at her now. “And you must have suspected that I would’ve known the antidote’s origin so I can  _clearly_ not choose the cup in front of  _you._ ”

By this point, Marinette’s finally comprehended enough of his monologue to know one thing: “You’re just stalling now.”

“You’d like to  _think_ that,  _wouldn’t you?”_ Chat Noir throws his fists down on the table, forcing everything - and Marinette - to jump. A few droplets of water spill on the table. “You’ve caught me in a stalemate in battles before, which means you’re exceptionally strong, so you  _could’ve_  put the poison in your  _own_  goblet trusting in your  _strength_  to save you so I can  _clearly_  not choose the cup in front of  _you_. But you’ve also bested my puns which means you _must’ve_  studied and in studying, you  _must’ve_  learned that the antidote is useless to your own person so you would’ve put the antidote as far from yourself as possible so I can  _clearly_  not choose the cup in front of  _me_.”

At this point, she’s just given up listening to him altogether. “You’re trying to trick me into giving away something.” Unfortunately for him, her brain might actually  _be_ inferior to his, because she has no idea what he’s getting at. “It won’t work.”

“It  _has_ worked. You’ve given away  _everything.”_ He gesticulates wildly. “I know where the antidote is!”

“Then make your choice.” Marinette is already nearing the end of her patience; anymore of his reasoning is going to make her quit this entire crusade. 

“I  _will_  make my choice!” Chat Noir declares. “And I choose- _Wait!_  What’s that?” He points at something behind her. 

Marinette turns around, seeing nothing but the birds and trees. “What?” She scans the area. “Where? I don’t see anything.”

While she’s looking, however, Chat Noir quickly switches the two cups, placing her cup in front of him and his in front of her. When she finally turns back around, Chat Noir is laughing to himself.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, genuinely puzzled. 

“I’ll tell you in a minute.” Chat Noir chortles. “First, let’s drink. Me from my cup-” He raises his cup. “-and you from yours.”

In confused compliance, Marinette raises her cup. After clinking their respective cups together, the two raise them to their lips. At the same time, they both take a large gulp of water, neither of them releasing their gaze.

And then, for the first time in a while, Marinette smirks at him. “You guessed wrong.”

But Chat Noir can no longer hold back anymore laughter. Jumping up on his feet, he points down at her and erupts in near howls. “You only  _think_  I guessed wrong; that’s what’s so  _funny!_  I switched cups when your back was turned! Haha you  _fool!”_ He sneers at her. “You fell victim to one of the classic blunders! The most famous is never get involved in a land war in the Eastern Kingdom. But only slightly  _less_  well known is this: Never go in against the great Chat Noir when his magical  _reputation_ is on the line!”

He continues to laugh, but Marinette just calmly sits by. Waiting, waiting. Because in three…two…one…

Chat Noir’s breath suddenly catches. He chokes for a moment, eyes widening in shock.

He falls over, muscles tense.

But only a moment later, he loosens up, and slowly he sits up, looks at her with astonishment - a clear indication that he’s back to normal. “And to think…” His voice is softer now, all hints of his alter-ego gone. “All this time, the antidote was in  _your_ cup.”

Now it’s Marinette’s turn to laugh. “Silly kitty,  _both_  cups had the antidote.”

She sits down beside him. 

She envelops him in a hug. 

She tells him, “I’m sorry about all the things I’ve done to you. I’ve been rude. I’ve taken you for granted.” She squeezes him lightly. “And I’m sorry for not treating you like a partner.”

As suddenly as she sat down, she gets up, extending a hand towards her familiar. “Come on, kitty. Let’s go.”

Chat Noir reaches for her hand, entwining his fingers in hers. 

But his heart is wildly beating. And if Marinette would just turn around, she would see that his face is splotched in red. 

* * *

_Somewhere, a small butterfly silently flutters into a room dark as midnight._

_“Hmm, Ladybug, is it?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone caught the Princess Bride ref! This chapter took me so long, omg, and I really hope you laughed and enjoyed it! I'm not sure if it's any funnier than the previous chapters, but it sure is longer. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and please feel free to leave a comment!!


	7. Notice Him, Darn It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to the lovely asterbells (aka tei-gen on tumblr aka shame shame irl) for putting up with my screaming throughout the process of this chapter. 
> 
> Also, believe it or not, there is only ONE mention of bread throughout this ENTIRE CHAPTER, so let's all play a game of SPOT THAT BREAD!!

Adrien hasn't been able to get her out of his head for months. Her blue eyes. Her cute nose. Her slight uplift in the corners of her pink lips when she smiles. Her puff - her slight blush - in her cheeks when she gushes. Her faint smell of strawberries…

Maybe it's because he hasn't been away from her for months.

( _Wow,_ he really needs a vacation. That's part of the familiar contract, right: "All familiars get at least one week of paid leave"? Because if not, he's going to have to form a Familiar Labor Union.)

He turns his attention back towards her, blushing slightly at her proximity. She's standing right in front of him, practicing an elemental spell. Droplets of water are condensing on her fingertips, sliding into the palm of her hand. And she's humming softly to herself, her voice hushed and sweet.

Ever since the potion incident, she's been kinder. Her voice no longer possessing that caustic bite, her words - in his ears - have become a melody, a soft, teasing lilt on her tongue.

He subconsciously leans closer into her, humming along with her as he adjusts her elbows to give her more stability, more control of her mana. (She flooded the city hall last time and he's not about to have a repeat of _that_ but in the kingdom _palace._ ) "Just like that," he murmurs. "Let the mana flow inside you like a river. Don't let it rush uncontrollably, but in slow currents." He breathes softly in her ears.

She tenses up beneath him.

Noticing that, he freezes, suddenly realizing that his chest is pressed up against her back. Biting his lip nervously, he takes a step back, dropping his hands from her elbows. "Sorry," he tells her. "I didn't mean to-"

"I-I…uh, it's fine," she stammers, her face splattered with freckles and pink. "I was just surprised, that's all."

"S-So…uhm…" He coughs awkwardly, gesticulating wildly to compensate for his embarrassment. "B-Back to our lesson!"

"Y-Yeah, back…back to our lesson! Haha…"

The rest of their lesson consists of more awkward laughter followed by long periods of awkward silences.

…But twenty percent of it also consists of Adrien gazing at Marinette, losing himself in her beauty, her smile, her soft, soft melody.

* * *

Marinette hasn't been able to get Chat Noir out of her head for months…

Maybe he's just being more annoying than usual.

Oh, who is she _kidding,_ that's absolutely not it. Ever since that potion incident, she's come to see him in a different light: he's no longer an annoying, pun-filled sidekick.

Well, he's still pun-filled, but now he's minus the 'annoying' and the 'sidekick.' He's also plus the handsome.

Honestly, he's always been pretty cute, but now she would actually say that he might even be _cuter_ than Adrien Agreste.

But that's impossible because _no one_ is better looking than Adrien Agreste.

_Except Chat Noir._

_Wait, no he's not._

_But he_ is _, Marinette. Just admit it._

_Shut up, Marinette._

_No,_ you _shut up, Marinette._

_Okay, but consider this: Adrien_ Agreste.

_Yeah, but Chat Noir is still cuter._

Marinette hates arguing with herself. She never wins.

…Well, technically, she never _loses_ either, but that still doesn't mean she _wins._

But Chat Noir…but _Adrien Agreste,_ her _idol…_

It's all too much for her. She doesn't know what's _what_ anymore. All she knows is that Chat Noir might actually be really, _really_ cute and she doesn't know how she _feels_ about that. (Well, she feels that he's cute but that's beside the point).

So she's done what any normal teenager in the middle of a crush crisis would do: she's pulled out her five pictures of Adrien Agreste that she's brought along to the palace and she's been staring at them for the past twenty minutes.

_Look, Marinette. Look at Adrien's beautifully crafted eyebrows. Compare_ these _eyebrows to_ Chat Noir's _eyebrows. Oh wait, Marinette. You can't. You know why? Because you can't_ see _Chat Noir's eyebrows because he wears a_ mask.  _Who even knows if Chat Noir even_ has _eyebrows. What if his entire forehead looks just like a bald_ egg _because he doesn't have eyebrows? So yeah, shut up, Marinette. Bald eggs can't look better than Adrien Agreste._

_Okay, Marinette._ Fine. _Maybe he_ does _look like a bald egg. But have you seen Chat Noir's cute little buck teeth when he smiles? You know, that really, really,_ really _cute smile you always have to look away from because he always looks so cute?_

_His buck teeth? Excuse you, Marinette. His buck teeth make him a_ rabbit _. He's supposed to be a_ cat, _not a_ rabbit. _He should at least choose_ one _type of animal and stick with the theme. And Adrien's green eyes are so-_

_-like Chat Noir's. Admit it, Marinette. They have the same color eyes._

_Yeah, but Chat Noir's are uglier._

_Lies, Marinette. You lie._

_Shut_ up, _Marinette. Okay,_ look. _Adrien Agreste has done_ so much _philanthropic work. He's rescued children, cured some of the most lethal illnesses known to man, has saved three different kings twice_ each, _and has-_

_Okay, but you've rescued children, created an antidote for that whole potion debacle, and just last_ week _you made a healing elixir for the king's fractured knee. And Chat Noir has helped you with every one of those…minus the antidote thing because that was for him. But anyway, your point with Adrien is…?_

_My point is: Adrien Agreste. And what's_ your _point, Marinette?_

My _point,_ _Marinette, is that you_ like _Chat Noir and you need to admit-_

Excuse me, _Marinette. Just because I think he might be_ cute _doesn't mean that I like-_

_Well you think he's cute._

_No I don't._

_You just said so._

_Shut up, Marinette._

_No,_ you _shut up, Marinette._

_No,_ you-

"Marinette, are you okay?" Her familiar's voice rings loud and clear in her ears, making her eyes widen in both shock and embarrassment. Taking a tentative step towards her, he places a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You've been glaring at your pictures of m…of Adrien for the past three minutes."

G-Glaring? She's been… _glaring?_

Something _has_ to be wrong with her to be glaring at a picture of Adrien  _Agreste._

"Marinette-"

"I'm fine, Chat Noir." She brushes off his hand. "I was just thinking about…some things…that's all." Awkward, embarrassed and slightly flushed, Marinette deliberately doesn't make eye contact with him. "I'm fine."

* * *

Adrien thinks she's acting weird.

Well, she _always_ acts weird, but now she's acting _more_ weird, if possible (which he thought wasn't, but apparently is).

He's been trying to get her to notice him for the past few days but every time he calls her name, she either runs away or _conveniently_ has some kind of royal deed to be done.

And now he's moping around the palace, upset and unnoticed.

How obvious and shameful would it be if he just went up to Marinette and cried out, "Notice me, darn you!"

…It'd be _very_ obvious and shameful, darn him.

And so he's moping around the palace, still upset, still very _much_ unnoticed.

"Chat Noir!"

Sometimes, he can still hear her voice…

"Chat Noir!"

It's almost like she's panting, coming closer to him, actually _noticing_ him.

"Chat Noir, notice me, darn it!"

Wow, it's like she's actually in _front_ of him. This hallucination of his is so real, from the blue of her eyes down to the last freckle. Even the slight squint in her eyes when she frowns is just right. It's just like the real-

"Chat Noir!"

Oh, it _is_ the real thing.

"Y-Yes, my lady!" He jumps up on his feet, giving her a quick bow. "What do you need to be done?" He waggles his eyebrows, giving her a large grin.

(What? He hasn't spoken to her in forever, and he finally has a chance to flirt with her. And considering the lack of attention lately, he'll take what he can get.)

Unfortunately for him, she's not having any of it. Rolling her eyes, she tells him, "One of the seven mages is coming back to the palace today. We haven't met him yet, so we have to be there and greet him."

_One of the seven mages that they haven't yet met?_ Adrien frowns, trying to figure out who it could be.

The eldest members, Tikki and Plagg, are already here. Marinette herself is obviously here. Sabrina is too. It's unfortunate, but so is Chloe. (Adrien's convinced she only has the position because of her Princess and "Daddy's Favorite Only Child" status, since she certainly isn't one of the Seven High Standing Mages because she actually has even a _glimmer_ of magic.) And the second seat has been left vacant for some time…and there's a good reason, but he can't quite remember why…

But who is it that they haven't met yet-

No.

Could it be-

Is it-

"Nino is _back_."

Adrien's eyes widen as he swivels his head towards the direction of the courtyard.

Of _course._ Nino, his _best friend._ Well, honestly his _only_ friend, but if anyone can help him out of this whole curse mess, it would have to be _Nino._ After all, just because he can't _say_ his true name doesn't mean other people won't be able to recognize him for who he truly is: Adrien Agreste.

He's Adrien Agreste. He's Adrien Agreste. He's Adrien _Agreste_ and finally,  _finally_ he has the hope that someone will recognize him. Know him. See him for who he really is.

Adrien _Agreste._

It's been nearly a year, and maybe just _maybe_ he can finally call himself that again. No more Chat Noir, no more Marinette's familiar.

Just Adrien Agreste.

Finally.

A new skip in his step, Adrien barrels into the courtyard, trying his best not to cry out, "Nino!" at the top of his lungs lest he seem suspicious. Still, he rushes to the carriage, nearly tripping several times.

Nino's here. Nino's _here._ Finally, _finally_ there might be hope. _Finally._

He sees the footman open the carriage door. He sees one foot come out, dangle above the step. A head pops out.

Tan, tall, it's _Nino._

"Hello!" Nino waves in his direction, but he's looking straight at Marinette. "And who are you?" he asks her.

"I'm…Ladybug." Marinette hesitates a little, still unsure whether to go by her name or her magical pseudonym. "I'm the fill-in for Adrien's seat while we're still searching for him." She offers a hand for Nino to shake. But she's biting her lip, still troubled by the nearly year-long disappearance of Adrien Agreste.

Nino extends his hand towards her, but it's a tentative hand offered only for the sake of custom and cordiality. The corners of his lips are pulling down ever so slightly. "Nice to meet you, Ladybug. I'm Nino, the Fifth Mage."

"Nice to meet you too, Nino." They shake hands briefly, and she pulls away immediately, but not too quickly to seem rude.

"So…you're the one in Adrien's seat now…" Nino's voice cracks just the slightest and his eyebrows crinkles together. "That's…great…"

"N-No!" Marinette reaches out to pat the poor guy's shoulder. "Believe me, the second he comes back, I'd be more than willing to give the seat back to him!"

"Well, who knows if we'll ever find him." Nino sighs. "I've been looking for him for ages. See-" He waves his hand, a bubble suddenly appearing in his palm. "-I've been using these bubbles to track for Adrien. I've sent them to all the seven kingdoms, and they act like my eyes to all the corners of the globe."

"Have you discovered any clues as to his whereabouts-"

"But for some reason…" Nino interrupts her, frowns and clenches his fist, bursting the bubble in his hand. "Every time I send a bubble to the Jagged Mountains, they immediately get popped."

Marinette's eyebrows furrow in concern. "Do you think-?"

Beside her, Adrien mewls.

"What?" Nino finally turns his attention to Adrien, and Adrien has to force himself to stay still, to not burst into smiles and tears.

_Please notice, please see me, please recognize-_

"And you are-?" Nino squints, scrutinizing Adrien's anthropomorphic appearance.

Adrien gulps, suddenly at a loss for words. "I-I…I…"

"He's Chat Noir," Marinette butts in, giving Adrien a quizzical look. "My familiar, although he's usually more talkative."

"Chat Noir…hmm…" Nino rubs his chin. "You look…kind of like someone I know…"

Adrien is internally screaming, and even though he can't see himself, he can feel his eyes growing wider, becoming shining, shimmering… _splendid_.

"Are you by any chance-" Nino squints, then suddenly smiles, snapping his fingers in epiphany. "You're Kim's cousin, aren't you?"

"…"

For the second time today, Adrien is at a loss for words. Kim's… _Kim's_ cousin?

"I-I'm not-"

Marinette finally joins in on the conversation, laughing. "He can't be _anyone's_ cousin. He's just an alleycat who prefers looking more human than cat!"

A butterfly flutters softly nearby.

* * *

Somewhere far off, a man cloaked in violet and midnight chuckles to himself. "How adorable of you to try and find your friend," he drawls. "Unfortunately for you, if you find me, it's all over for me. But-" He stares at the image of Nino in his crystal ball. "-you have some use for me yet." The violet man snaps his fingers, murmuring something beneath his breath.

And then his cackling rings loud and clear from the peaks of the Jagged Mountains.

* * *

Chat Noir's been moping again ever since he met Nino. So basically, he's been upset for the last eight minutes. Marinette can tell by the small pout on his lips.

_You mean the really cute pout on his really k-_

_Shut_ up, _Marinette._

But _darn it_ , she really _is_ worried. He's her familiar, and as his witch, she's responsible for his happiness. Or, at the moment, his lack thereof.

If there's anything wrong, she should be the first one to know. And she would take him on another walk, but his _allergies._

Sneezing is a hindrance to happiness.

She looks over at him again as he hangs his head in his hands. He's trembling ever so slightly and she bites her lips in frustration because she doesn't know what to _do._

"Chat Noir-"

**_BOOM._ **

She turns around on her heels, eyes and ears suddenly alert. The sound came from the courtyard, just where Nino was-

Her eyes widen in shock. Oh no. _Nino._ Was he alright?

Before her, her familiar is staring at her in the same expression of shock that she must be wearing.

Jumping up on his feet, he quickly grabs her hand and together, they run back towards the courtyard.

"Nino are you okay-" Marinette calls out, but suddenly stops in her tracks, nearly making Chat Noir trip in the process.

Nino _is_ okay.

But he also _isn't._

There's hundreds of bubbles swirling around him in a tornado, his cape flowing along with the storm created. He's glaring at nothing, laughing at his chaos.

There's a violet glint in his violent eyes.

"Nino!" Marinette yells out, shielding her eyes from all the loose, flying foliage caused by the storm. "Nino, what are you doing?"

Nino only laughs in response. They're deep, deep bellows.

"Nino, please!" Breadinette calls out again, barely dodging a tree branch that had come her way.

Still, he laughs and laughs, conjuring _still_ more bubbles around him. A lone lavender butterfly calmly flies around Nino amidst the chaos.

"Marinette, look." Chat Noir points up at the butterfly.

She nods in response. "Yeah, I see it too."

"Do you think it's the cause?"

Marinette follows the butterfly with her eyes. "It _does_ look pretty strange."

Suddenly, the butterfly _glows_ a deep purple. At the same time, Nino's eyes glow incandescent.

"Okay, that's _definitely_ strange," Marinette says. "Did you _see_ that?"

"Marinette." He clasps her elbow, looks deep into her eyes. "You're going to need to purify the butterfly."

She can feel her face flushing. _Darn it, heart, this isn't the time for you._ "P-purification spell?" she asks. "I don't know how to do that. I haven't _learned_ it yet."

"Well, you're going to have to learn to _now."_ Chat Noir points at the butterfly. "To purify that, you have to have the strength to absorb all of its evil and expel that evil before it can corrupt you."

"Okay, but how do I absorb the evil?" she yells at him, the storm becoming a tempest of bubbles.

"You have to be in contact with it, and will its mana into yours." Chat Noir squats down. "In the meantime-" He withdraws his claws. "-I'll help you by getting you close enough to get to the butterfly." Stretching out to all fours, her familiar turns back into a cat and with a meow, begins pouncing around, swiping and bursting bubble after bubble.

But even _with_ Chat Noir popping the bubbles, he's not _fast enough._ Nino merely laughs, conjuring _two_ bubbles for every _one_ popped.

Marinette bites her lip, frantically looking around for an opening.

Except there's _no_ opening. Both Nino and the butterfly are entirely _surrounded_ by bubbles.

_Think, Marinette, think. How are you going to get to them?_

She needs to somehow burst all those bubbles. But what can she do to pop several of them at a time? To destroy them at a faster rate than Nino can create them?

What does she need to conjure?

Something she could probably swing…

Something with a long range…

_Oh._ Yeah, she could do _that._

Closing her eyes, she creates a mental image of it, from its curve down to its glossy wax. And then something plops in her hands.

She hesitantly opens her eyes, always afraid that she didn't quite conjure what it was that she wanted. But yes, there it is, _exactly_ what she needed.

A _yo-yo._

Without hesitation, Marinette pulls out the string and begins to swing the thing, waiting for it to gain enough momentum so that the yo-yo piece becomes a red blur. When finally satisfied, a wide grin spreads on her face and she begins to hurl it at multiple bubbles, making sure not to let go of the string, making sure not to hit Nino, the butterfly, or her familiar.

The butterfly flutters around in a panic. Taking advantage of the situation, Marinette pops the bubbles closest to the butterfly, forcing its path of flight to lead to her. When its finally close enough for her to reach out to it, she holds out her finger, lets its legs gently perch on it.

And again, she closes her eyes, hears the universe whisper in her ears.

_Absorb its mana. Let it flow inside of you and expel it,_ she tells herself. With a deep inhale, she lets the butterfly's mana rush into her.

That was such a _mistake._

Her ears are pounding, her legs are trembling. Mana is coursing through her veins, palpitating violently. It feels dark and black and violet and red, red blood is rushing to her head. The mana is clustering together, applying pressure to her body, threatening to break her, to crush her.

_Expel it, expel it. You have to get it_ out.

She shakily exhales, trying to release the mana out into the air. She imagines picking it out of her bloodstream, off of her skin and into the air.

_Deep breaths, deep breaths, Marinette. You can't let it destroy you._

Ever so slowly, her head clears again and she can stabilize her stance. The endless darkness dulls into a slight pink, and she opens her eyes, takes a sigh of relief.

She _did_ it.

The butterfly, now a plain white rather than an eerie lavender, lightly takes off from her finger. "Bye bye, butterfly." She waves her fingers at it, but she's absolutely exhausted.

A few meters before her, Nino is kneeled on the ground, head in his palm, groaning. "Wha-"

Marinette looks at him, unsure what to do. But she's so tired she decides it's better to explain it to him later. For now, she needs to go back to her chamber and take a nice, long nap.

But her familiar is loping towards her, transforming back into a human-cat before her eyes. Arms outstretched, it seems as if he's about to hug her, but he's so unsteady from the sudden shift in height and weight that he trips.

Trips right into her.

Trips just so his lips brush against her cheeks.

It takes her a second to register what just happened, but when she does, her face lights up in red. And, because she's staring straight ahead in shock, she can see that her familiar's face is also lit up in red, making his bright green eyes stand out even more.

"Ch-Chat-"

With a sudden _meow,_ Chat Noir jumps and transforms back into a cat, running off into the castle.

Leaving Marinette confused, perturbed…

…and wistfully brushing her cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed, and please feel free to leave me comments or suggestions of what you would like to see! I'll try my very best to incorporate them, but I can only see two more chapters left for this fic. Thank you again for reading!!


	8. Bread is Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In French, "bread" is "pain."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Blood. 
> 
> Also, back by popular demand, it's ALYA!!! YAY!!!
> 
> Thank so much to tei-gen aka asterbells aka shame shame once again for helping me with this chapter!!

She’s hurting, always hurting, always in pain. 

Her eyes are shutting closed on occasion, wrinkling at the corners like she’s wrestling an internal pain. Beads of sweat are always gathering near and around her forehead. And her breaths are forced and shallow, like her very lungs are struggling.

He wants to help her, wants to ask her what’s wrong, wants to hold her close and tell her that whatever’s wrong will be okay. But every time he approaches her, she raises a hand to him, halts him mid-step, her cheeks flushed with crimson. 

And he’ll never press further, because he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable. But she already - she _always -_  looks so uncomfortable, twisting and turning in her bed every night while he has the agency to doze off beside her. 

In an effort to ease her pain, on her table he’s laid bread handmade by the castle chef. But she’s left them to mold, unable to touch them, unable to swallow them, unable to stomach them. Even during their fewer and fewer lessons, her concentration is waning, her spirit slowly slipping away. 

And he’s flipped through every castle spellbook, trying to see if any of them have even a semblance of explanation for what could be wrong with her.

They have no answers, just like him. 

And he’s begun following her, more than he ever used to, offering to carry things for her, offering to run errands for her. Offering her his hand whenever she collapses from the stress of her ailment. 

Because she’s hurting, hurting, always hurting. 

“Chat Noir,” she says one day, finally breaking the silence. “I don’t think I ever fully expelled the evil.”

He stares at her in silence, mouth awkwardly agape. But when it sinks in that she had just spoken to him again, had finally told him what was _wrong,_ he leaps up to his feet. 

“Marinette, you need to get that out, _now,”_ he says, trying to reach out towards her. 

But she swats him away. “Do you think I don’t _know_ that?” she asks, glaring at him, her eyes a dull blue, nearly navy. “I’ve been _trying,_ but it just won’t go _away_.”

“Marinette,” he calls out again, trying to reassure her, to hold her and tell her it’ll be fine. “You need to expel the evil as soon as you can, because evil only builds, feeding off of negative energy. The longer you let the evil stay within you, the more it will fester, the more you’ll suffer.”

“But I don’t _know_ how to get it out. I _can’t_ get it out.” She looks at him then, and her eyes are wide, full of fear, tears gathering in the corners.  

It’s the first time she’s honestly shown him any sign of weakness. 

“Marinette, just try again-”

“I can’t.” She looks away from him, shoulders slumped in defeat. A lone tear slides down her cheek. 

* * *

Every day she gets worse. Her temper grows shorter and shorter, and all the bread in the world can’t appease her. Just today, she’s been arrested six times for disrespecting the Princess. In retaliation, Marinette’s taken to casting an explosion to her cell wall, and now the guards are scared of her for more reasons than the possibility of being force-fed bread. 

Still, Adrien wants to help her, constantly telling her to just take a deep breath, to concentrate on the central source of the evil and to rid it from her system. 

But she swats him away every time. “Go away, kitty,” she’ll say, between short, quick breaths. 

And he’ll always leave momentarily to appease her, but after a while he’ll always wander on back to her, trying to help her still. Only to be met with her rejection again and again. 

Maybe he’s a masochist. 

But being rejected by her doesn’t make him feel nice in the slightest bit, so that _can’t_ be right. And he can’t be a sadist _either_ , because seeing her in pain doesn’t make him feel any better about anything. 

Then again, bread is pain, so maybe _she’s_ the masochist here. 

Just as he’s deliberating the details of their relationship to each other, Nino pops his head into Marinette’s chamber (of her secrets). His cheeks are tinged with pink, eyes sparkling just the slightest. “Marinette,” he calls out to her. “A girl - I think her name was A…Alya - has come to visit you.”  

Marinette looks at him, her expression softening from pain to confusion. “Alya…?” she mumbles. 

“Yes.” Nino looks down, awkwardly rubbing the nape of his neck. Adrien’s never seen his friend so flustered before. “She says she’s been traveling for two days just to see you again.”

“Oh…” Marinette groans, forcing herself from her seat with considerable effort.   
“Alya’s here…” she mumbles, not truly registering the situation. 

* * *

The second she arrives in the courtyard, Alya runs up to her and envelops her in a hug. 

“Marinette!” she squeals. “I’ve missed you so much!”

Marinette’s shocked, Alya’s large store of energy so contrasting her lack of. “A-Alya!” Marinette awkwardly reciprocates Alya’s hug. “I-It’s nice to see you again.”

Alya pulls away, too excited to notice Marinette’s fatigue. Looking across Marinette’s shoulders, she asks, “Where’s your familiar? The cat-boy?”

Marinette blinks slowly. “Oh…him,” she weakly answers. “I told him to go away and play, so us two could…reconvene.” 

“You know…” Alya takes a step forward so that they’re standing next to each other. Taking that chance to nudge Marinette’s side with her elbow, Alya waggles her eyebrows and says, “That guy that greeted me here - Nemo, or whatever his name was…you know he was pretty cute, actually - anyway, Nemo was saying that you two had some kind of thing going on.”

Marinette sighs. “Alya, there’s nothing going on between us.”

“Well, Nemo says that he looks at you like you look at _bread,_ so there _has_ to be _something_ going-”

“Alya, I’m not a _furry.”_

“Like being attracted to _bread_ is any better, Marinette.” Alya rolls her eyes, noting that Marinette is looking away, eyes wide, face flushed. 

* * *

Dimmed light slowly filters into a room previously resting in shadows. Small bouts of laughter emerge from the depths of darkness. 

[Audience cue: Hawkmoth, please no.]

[Hawkmoth: Hawkmoth, please yes.]

“Show me Ladybug,” the violet man demands. His crystal ball clears its clouds, revealing two young girls. The man looks first at the one he knows to be Ladybug. Scowling, he shifts his attention to the tanner girl beside her. And immediately, he turns his frown upside down, because _here_ he has _another_ chance to destroy Ladybug once and for all. 

A butterfly flies away. 

* * *

She and Alya have been talking for quite a while now. Mostly about Marinette’s seat in the order, Alya’s possible attraction to a certain boy named Nemo (Marinette’s corrected her at least three times, but Alya seems pretty set on calling him Nemo), Marinette’s (very _not_ true, shut _up_ Alya; also you _too_ , Marinette) attraction to a certain cat-boy, and also “Is the Princess really as bad as they say she is?” (To which the answer is no, she’s _worse._ )

Still, Marinette hasn’t had so much fun in so long. Not since that incident with Nino. She’s even smiling a little, and she’s happy that she can _feel_ happiness again. 

She’s so absorbed in reveling in her sense of happiness, in fact, that she doesn’t notice the butterfly flitting by, doesn’t notice the butterfly landing on Alya’s head, doesn’t notice the purple glare overtake her friend’s eyes. 

Doesn’t notice until it’s too late. 

Because the next thing she knows, she’s sprawled across the stone path of the courtyard, blown away by some kind of large wind.

She’s suddenly meters away from Alya now.

And maybe that’s a good thing, too, being so far away from her, because Alya is emitting sonic booms from her _palms,_ devastating all the surrounding foliage. 

Marinette doesn’t want to deal with this again. _Last_ time was bad enough. It had taken nearly all of hers _and_ Chat Noir’s expenses (she still has no idea when he had the time to make any money, and she’s still convinced there might have been some pawning of the Princess’ items involved) to pay for the damages to the courtyard, leaving them nearly penniless and distraught. 

So she _doesn’t_ want to deal with any of this _again._

“Chat Noir,” she calls out, weakly. “Please come over here.”

There’s a lime-green puff of smoke before her, her familiar, as a cat, landing in its wake. He looks up at her curiously with his large green eyes, and she can only point at Alya in front of them. 

“Something’s happened to Alya,” she tells him, all traces of her former happiness gone. 

Replaced with exhaustion. 

She slowly reaches into her dress pocket, taking out the yo-yo she had created the last time. 

Meanwhile, Chat Noir’s left her side, pouncing and circling around Alya, wanting to help but not knowing exactly _how to._ He nimbly dodges the sonic booms, hopping up and around, looking at the butterfly all the time. 

And Marinete watches him, trying so hard, not knowing what to do. She looks down at her yo-yo. And back up at Chat Noir, who jumps up, but too late. 

He’s hit in the flank, sent flying across the width of the courtyard, his back hitting a tree trunk. Her familiar mewls in pain, falling to the floor with a _thump._

Marinette has to close her eyes. 

Chat Noir was just _hurt_. Alya’s going to _be_ hurt and arrested if she keeps this up. But most importantly, Marinette’s _wallet_ is going to be hurt if Alya keeps damaging the garden. 

And Marinette’s tired. Marinette’s been in pain. Marinette’s _still_ hurting. 

But Marinette can’t let everyone else get hurt just because _she’s_ hurt. 

Marinette shuts her eyes tighter. Has to concentrate as hard as she can to gather all the energy - whatever energy - left in her. 

It’s very little. 

It’s not much at all. 

But it’ll have to do. 

She opens her eyes, and if she could see herself, she would’ve seen that they were the bright, clear blue they once were, not the darkened navy they had been for the past several days. 

Taking a deep breath, she spins the yo-yo in her hands, making it go so fast as to become a blur before her eyes, becoming a makeshift shield in front of her. She takes tentative steps forwards, towards Alya. 

As much energy as she’s willing to spend for this, as much as she’s trying to be optimistic here, she’s still afraid that her plan won’t work as she expected. 

But it _does_ work, Alya’s sonic booms hitting her yo-yo barrier and being redirected away from Marinette (redirected, though, right to the sky and…plants and…trees, meaning she’s going to have to pay for so _much_ damages). 

She begins to walk faster and faster, her confidence increasing as Alya’s wanes. 

Alya’s panicking now, her eyes flashing purple, her hand shooting out more and more useless gusts of wind. 

Beside Alya, the lone butterfly flutters violently around, trying to stay in place amidst the turbulence. 

Marinette, still spinning her yo-yo, looks at the butterfly, hoping, just hoping, that the yo-yo will guide a gust just close enough to the butterfly to knock it off course, to make it land in her hand. 

To the side, Chat Noir finally gets back up, albeit slowly. He shakes himself off, bleeding just the slightest, but apparently well enough to still move. Chat Noir looks up at her, sees her right in _front_ of Alya, and he meows loudly. Pawing at the ground, he rushes towards the two, dodging sonic boom after sonic boom.

He has to go _fast_. 

And he does. His head pointed towards Alya, he jumps up and headbutts her right in the stomach, tipping Alya’s balance, sending a gust straight towards the butterfly and clipping its wing. 

The butterfly struggles to stay afloat, but the imbalance of weight sends it spiraling downwards. 

Alya’s on the ground now, confused and groaning, the cat’s light weight on her. No more sonic booms to be had for the time being, Marinette slows her yo-yo, outstretching her other hand to catch the butterfly. 

When it lands, it’s that feeling again: 

Pain. Pressure. Pitch black. 

An endless void of evil whispering in her ears. 

The darkness - the blackness - crushes down at her skull, weighs heavy on her soul. It clouds her vision, muddying it, threatening to eat away at her eyes. If her breaths had been shallow for the past several days, they were few and far in between _now,_ harsh and forced. Her arms are both tingling with the evil escaping into her bloodstream and numb from the pain caused by it. Her legs are trembling, her bones rattling and yelling at her to get it out, to get out all the evil. 

But she’s afraid. 

So, so afraid. 

She couldn’t even get out the evil _last_ time, how will she be able to do it _now?_

_Deep breaths. Deep breaths, Marinette,_ she has to tell herself. 

Except she can’t. She physically _can’t_ take any more deep breaths. 

_Then shallow breaths. Short breaths. Just_ breathe, _Marinette._

It’s not working: she’s panicking, grasping for air. 

_Out, out, out, out,_ out. _Please get out._ Her internal monologue has become incoherent screaming. A suffocated, frightened yell for help. She’s pushing, pushing away the evil with all her might, but it’s black, black, black. 

So, so black. 

_Out._ Tears are collecting in her ever-darkening eyes. _Get out._

Short, small surges of dark energy are expelled at time, and it’s painful, so painful. 

But it’s still better than nothing. 

The black slowly fades to a tinted gray, and apparently that’s enough for that butterfly. White and pure again, it flies away from her hand, if unevenly for its clipped wing. 

Slowly, she opens her eyes to watch it flit away. “Bye b-” She coughs and she rasps, sending something escaping from her. 

Something red. 

_Blood._

* * *

The violet man could be crimson now, for all he cares. Because he’s _furious._

That girl - Ladybug’s _friend -_ was supposed to _destroy_ Ladybug. Instead, Ladybug’s friend is all fine and dandy. Passed out, maybe, but dandy all the same. 

And he’s _furious,_ because that’s not how it was supposed to _go._

Glaring at his crystal ball, the man notes the blood dripping from Ladybug’s lips, the fact that she’s so exhausted she can no longer stand. 

_Fine._ If both that boy from last time and _this_ girl can’t finish the job for him, then he’ll have to do it _himself._

A click of his fingers, a swish of his midnight cloak, and he’s gone. 

And the room once again rests in silent shadows, only the light of the crystal ball able to filter through. 

* * *

Adrien wants to call out to her. Wants to tell her it’s okay. Wants to help her so, so much. 

But all he can do is quietly mewl. Softly nudge her in an attempt at comfort. Lick her tears away. 

But he can’t do anything about the blood. 

The ever increasing amounts of blood, splattering the stone path in flowering red.  

He tries to place a paw on her lowered forehead, but she’s shuddering violently, eyes wide, afraid. 

Her breaths are shallow, shallow. 

So shallow. 

He can tell that, once again, she didn’t cleanse all the dark energy from her system. 

Adrien meows at her, another shot at telling her it’s okay. 

And then…

But then…

His ears suddenly perk up, his head shoots up, his eyes wander around because there’s something _amiss._

There’s a distinct puff of black smoke in front of him, and suddenly, he sees a man dressed in a black and violet suit, pointed black shoes to match. A man wearing a dark, near skintight mask. 

Adrien looks up at the man and the man glares at him with disdain.

And suddenly, Adrien remembers _everything._

Because this is the man that had cursed him. This is _Hawkmoth._

Hawkmoth, the man who had once occupied the second seat in the mage order. Who had mysteriously left one day for some reason, with no one being able to track him down since. 

Hawkmoth, the man once known as the most powerful wizard to ever live. The once most respected wizard, if only because he was once the most feared.  

Once. 

Up until Adrien Agreste had showed up. Had proven himself to have prowess in the field of magic. Had become renowned as a young prodigy. Had been pitted time and time again against Hakwmoth in conversations, with every one of them concluding in, “I think _Adrien Agreste_ is more powerful than Hawkmoth ever will be.”

And Adrien remembers now that - even though he had been young, had not yet been accepted into the order - the few times he had seen Hawkmoth, the man had glared at him. Him, merely a _child_ then. 

Everything suddenly clicks now: Hawkmoth had cursed him because he had been jealous of Adrien. 

And now that he’s out of the way, there’s-

_No._

Adrien looks up with wide eyes, right at his witch. 

Right at Marinette, who’s still slumped over and weak. 

Adrien Agreste had been eliminated, as far as Hawkmoth had known. And from his metaphorical ashes had emerged _Ladybug,_ filling in Adrien’s seat with ease, quickly having her name spread across the seven kingdoms and seas for being extraordinarily powerful and _gifted_ with magic. 

And naturally, Hawkmoth - the once greatest power - would want to eliminate her _too._

Adrien’s eyes flash over, back to see in front of him, back to look at Hawkmoth. 

Because Hawkmoth’s chanting something under his breath. Because Hawkmoth’s chanting a _spell_ under his breath. 

A spell aimed to _kill,_ judging by the black matter gathering at the man’s fingertips. 

And Hawkmoth… _that_ Hawkmoth, is looking straight at Marinette. 

Adrien looks around, furiously trying to figure out what he can do. Because Adrien is a cat. He’s a _cat._ There’s nothing he can _do_ about any of this. He’s a powerless, worthless, magic-less _cat,_ and Marinette doesn’t currently have the magical energy in her to support him turning back into a cat- _person._

He’s a cat, and he can only meow at her as loudly as he can, internally begging her to do something, _anything._

But she’s weak. She’s slumped over. She’s coughing up blood, blood, still more blood. 

And it looks like there’s no more energy left in her to move. 

Adrien’s focus turns back towards Hawkmoth now, who’s no longer quiet. Who’s cackling with a frightening fervor. Who now has a large ball of dark energy, about to direct it straight at Marinette. 

To Adrien, everything after seems to happen in slow motion. 

Hawkmoth releases the ball of dark energy. 

Marinette finally looks up, incapable of moving, of emitting a sound. Only able to look at her impending doom with wide eyes. 

And Adrien runs. Leaps. 

Hawkmoth’s dark magic never touches Marinette. 

Instead, it makes a direct hit on _Adrien._

Torrents of black magic rush into him, bypassing his blood flow, incapacitating him within seconds. It squeezes at his heart, trying to strangle the breath from him. For the second time today, he lands hard on the stone path. On his back, he can see as the clouds spin and spin, from a pure white to a dark, dark storm. 

Marinette is looking down at him. At the corner of her lips is the blood that he so desperately wants to wipe away for her. 

Something wet lands on him. And even though he can’t move, he knows them to be tears. 

Her tears. 

_Please don’t cry for me,_ he thinks, if slowly, for his mind is being crushed by the pressure of darkness. _Please don’t cry for me…I just want you to smile again…please…_

His breaths are becoming shorter and shorter, his vision foggier and foggier. He looks straight ahead, not wanting to blink. 

He wants the last thing he sees to be her. Marinette.

“Chat Noir. Chat Noir, please be-”

He closes his eyes. 


	9. Bread is Dead

She doesn't know what to do. In fact, she's barely registered the last few minutes.

One second, there's a big ball of energy hurdling towards her. The next, Chat Noir is collapsed in front of her, in a condition far worse than hers has ever been.

And she's terrified for him.

His eyes are closed, breaths faint and shallow. He's having violent, abrupt spasms. He's on the floor shuddering, suffering.

She doesn't know what to do.

Before both of them, the violet man in tuxedo is grimacing, a snarl stretched across his face. Harsh gasps for air escape through his gritted teeth. His pupils narrow and he looks from her fallen familiar to _her._

And she's terrified. She's weak. She doesn't know what to _do._ But she can't feel _any_ of that right now; she can't _afford_ to feel any of that right now.

Because she has to do something. Something… _anything_ for Chat Noir — may the seven kings know that he would've thought the same if it was her.

He's _already_ done something drastic for her.

Still, the darkness is pushing at her heart, weighing down on her soul. Harder, more intense than ever, too. The more she thinks about it, about him — _both_ hims here — and about this entire situation, the worse it all gets. Harsher, sharper, increasingly more painful.

_"Evil only builds, feeding off of negative energy."_

His words ring loud and clear in her head, even with all the dark forces pulsing in her bloodstream.

He's right. She should've listened to him before. Well, she did, but she should have _attempted_ it then, when he was still…was still with…her.

In that momentary lapse of conviction, the evil drums painfully in her ears, punctures her heart as if it were a million splinters. She screams in agony, a horrifying, blood-curdling sound.

The violet man is smiling to himself, beads of sweat above his lips, near his eyes — the only areas of his face his mask has not covered.

Marinette forces herself to look at him, has to physically lift herself off of her feet. Deliberately, she wipes the blood from her lips.

And, even though it's the least rational thing to do, even though it woud incapacitate her and make her as vulnerable as she could possibly be to this man, Marinette closes her eyes.

As the world falls to black, the universe, pushing aside the screeching darkness, whispers in her ears. It has a caressing tone, like layered honey. Yet it's muffled, and she has to strain to hear it.

_"Look."_ It tells her. _"Follow the lantern that glows amidst this darkness. Let it guide you as you release the evils and suffering afflicting you."_

Somewhere in the darkness of her mind, a small flame begins to flicker bright: a luminescent sun in this relentless night.

_There,_ she tells herself. _Go there. Expel the evils. Don't think of the sorrows, the hurt, the anguish, the pain. Don't think of the fear, the terror, the slain. Not now, not yet. Don't dwell on the painful past, but on the promising future. Think of a victory, a triumph, a peace._

The light glows brighter and brighter, closer and closer. As it does, the pain — the hurt — lessens.

And suddenly, she can hear the universe sing with astounding clarity. The wind kisses her cheek, the trees sway and bow to her grace, and each wisp of grass hums to the lilting tune plucked from the sun's rays.

But there's something that murmurs darkly in this beauty, a cacophony forcing itself into the tranquility.

She opens her eyes, just as a dark ball of mana rushes at her. She ducks, and it narrowly misses her head. When she looks up, her eyes glow brighter than the sky.

* * *

_Nanana Nanana Nanana Nanana Na Na Na Nana Na Na Na~_

Witch Marinette would like to battle!

* * *

Marinette looks down at her hands. She has her trusty yo-yo in hand, but will that really stop him?

_Well._ She shrugs. S _he supposes she can try._

* * *

Witch Marinette used "Yo-Yo."

The yo-yo wraps itself around Wizard Hawkmoth.

It's not very effective…

Wizard Hawkmoth's speed is lowered!

Wizard Hawkmoth used "Dark Ball of Mana."

…But it had no effect!

* * *

The evil all but bounces off her skin. She's too calm, too at peace with herself to ever be marred again by the darkness.

She smirks.

* * *

Witch Marinette used "Lucky Charm."

Seven tons of dough fall from the sky!

The dough traps Wizard Hawkmoth!

Wizard Hawkmoth is defeated!

* * *

Marinette claps her hands onto her hips, proud of her handiwork. The Wizard is defeated, his entire body — save for his head — buried beneath seven tons of unbaked dough.

He won't be able to get out of _that_ any time soon. And it'd be difficult to move in that kind of thick, sticky texture. So she doesn't have to worry about him magicking his way out.

Smiling, she turns her back to him, confident that the Magic Police will take him into custody.

Then she looks down. And she remembers: Chat Noir is in pain.

He's still sprawled across the cold stone path. He's still breathing faintly, forcefully. He's still fighting for his life.

Eyes wide, breath hitched, she picks him up and runs back to the castle.

* * *

She lays her familiar down in her bed. His chest is slowly rising and falling, but not steadily, not often.

Something plops down, dampening his fur coat. Subconsciously, Marinette reaches towards her eyes, then quickly pulls her hand away when it touches something moist.

Something like tears.

…She's crying.

But _of course_ she's crying. _Of course_ there are tears. _Of course_ she's sad.

Because she's about to lose her familiar. Because she's about to lose her companion. Because she's about to lose one of the best friends she's ever had.

And all he had ever been to her was kind. He had tutored her, mentored her, helped her even when all she had done in the beginning was push him away, push him aside.

He had taught her everything she knows now and she hadn't appreciated it. He had been with her through everything and she could only return eye rolls. He had essentially _transformed_ her into one of the most powerful mages in the kingdom and she hadn't realized until now…now that it's too late.

And he had always respected her no matter what, even when she couldn't return that same sentiment until only recently and only briefly, before the darkness had collapsed in on her heart.

She reaches out for him, but then briefly balls her hand into a fist in hesitation.

All he had been to her was kind. She didn't deserve him.

His breaths are quiet, shallower and shallower.

Still, in his moment of pain, he at least deserves some comfort.

Again, she reaches out for him, but this time she doesn't hesitate. Running her hand through his soft midnight fur, she breaks out into a sob.

All this time, she had been debating her feelings between him and Adrien Agreste. But now that she's about to lose Chat Noir, she realizes that it _is_ Chat Noir that she cares more for.

Because Chat Noir was kind, was caring, was respectful, was knowledgeable, was patient, was sweet, was sincere, was everything she had ever wanted in a lover when all Adrien Agreste had ever been was a _picture._

Even the _other_ Marinette inside her head is too beside herself with grief to comment on her acceptance of this fact.

And Marinette knows that if she could relive the past year or so of her life, she would spend every waking moment letting Chat Noir feel just as loved and respected as he had her.

As his breaths fade away, she leans down. "Goodbye," she whispers, voice cracking. She gently presses her lips against his forehead, just as one final breath escapes him.

…Or so she thought.

Suddenly, a bright light envelops him, illuminating him in fluorescent green.

He transforms before her eyes.

The paws turn into hands and feet. The black fur on his head bleaches into beautiful blond locks.

And he's human. _Fully_ human, not just _half-_ human anymore.

Her familiar — no, a young man? — snaps his eyes open, the irises just as green as the light had been. He sits up in the bed, then looks down at his hands, a shocked expression clear on his face. Quickly, he feels for ears that are no longer there on his head, a mask that no longer exists around his eyes.

And when he looks at her, she gasps.

"A-A-A-A-"

_Marinette, Marinette, that's-_

"A-A-A-A-A-A-A- "

_Marinette, Marinette, look that's-_

"A-A-A-A-A-A-Ad-ri-"

_Marinette, that's-_

"Adrien Agreste!" she screams out loud. Her hand immediately flies to her mouth. But it's too late because something in her just _breaks._

_Marinette, that's Adrien Agreste!_

_Shut_ up, _Marinette, I_ just _said that._

_No, but Marinette_ look, _it's Adrien Agreste._

_I_ know. _But how is that possible? He was just Chat N-_

"Oh the seven kings…" She squeaks.

_How did you not_ notice, _Marinette?_

_How did_ I _not notice? How did_ you _not notice?_

_What do you mean 'How did I not notice,' I told you from the start that-_

_You told me from the start that Chat Noir was more attractive than Adrien Agreste. Well joke's on you because they're the same_ person.

_Well by_ that _logic, joke's on_ you _then because_ you _were the one debating which one you liked better._

You _were the one that suggested that Chat Noir was cuter than_ himself.

_Well_ you _were the one that said that Chat Noir's eyes were uglier than Adrien_ Agreste's _eyes._

_How was I supposed to know that they were the same pers-_

"Oh the seven _kings_ …" Marinette repeats, biting her lip.

It was so _obvious._ Same hair color, same eye color, same height. She knows literally _everything_ about Adrien Agreste down to his favorite _toe;_ she should've been able to sense him from a mile away. It should've been _apparent_ from the very second Chat Noir claimed to be the greatest wizard in the world.

_Marinette, how could you have missed this?_

_How could_ I _have-? Excuse_ me, _how could_ you _have missed it, Miss Chat-Noir-Is-Cuter-Than-Adrien-Agreste?_

_Shut_ up, _Marinette._

_No,_ you _shut up, Marinette._

_No,_ you _shut up._

_No,_ you.

_No,_ you-

* * *

Adrien — _actually_ Adrien, and not just a humanized cat! — gapes at Marinette.

She's running her hands nervously through her hair, glaring at both nothing and everything.

Well, she's probably just in shock.

After all, if he had found out that his familiar was actually his biggest crush — to the extent that he would keep a picture of them on hand with him everywhere he goes — then yeah, he'd be in shock too.

Well, turns out that Marinette's probably just realized that too — that Adrien Agreste had just found out that she was his most embarrassing fangirl.

How can he tell?

Well she's dropped to the floor in fetal position and begun to let out a low cry of pain.

But how did she not only save him from death, but also transform him back into a human?

He thinks back to what had happened. It had honestly all been a blur, lapsing periods between consciousness and unconsciousness. But towards the end, just as he had finally given up, he had heard a faint "Goodbye," followed by something touching his fore-

Oh the seven kings…

He reaches for his forehead, his face blazing crimson.

She had _kissed_ him.

And what was the number one rule of magic?

"True love will break any curse."

She _loves_ him. She actually _loves_ him. Not just the him fabricated for the image of "Greatest Wizard," but the _actual_ him that he had been around her.

_And he…_

He looks at her, and for a second, their eyes meet before they both look away in embarrassment.

And he loves her too.

And he loves her _too._

She gets up then, looking down at the floor, afraid to look back into his emerald eyes. Shakily extending her hand towards him, she stutters, "H-Hello, A-Adrien Agreste. I-I know it's b-been a year, but I thought i-it would on-only be appropriate to int…introduce ourselves again. I-I'm Marinette-"

Then Adrien Agreste does something she _never_ would have dreamed of even in her _wildest_ dreams: he pulls her down, and, cradling her cheek, he leans into her and meets his mouth with _hers._

For a moment, she doesn't move; she's too startled, too busy trying to comprehend what just _happened._ But when he begins to probe at her lips with his tongue, she closes her eyes and blissfully reciprocates.

It's more magical than any spell she's ever performed.

* * *

_Adrien Agreste soon assumed his position in the Seven High Standing Mages once again. Hawkmoth was eventually imprisoned for misconduct of magic and attempted murder, leaving his seat open for Marinette. Adrien Agreste then officially broke off his "engagement" to Princess Chloe so he could begin his courtship with Marinette Dupain-Cheng, who happily accepted._

_…And they all lived sassily every after._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from my brainstorming (if you don't go to my [tumblr](http://pisces-royalty.tumblr.com/tagged/that-one-ladynoir-magic%21au), you're missing out on a lot of extra crack for this story lmao): and they all live sassily ever after because if i don't end this story on a happy note the readers will maul me
> 
> Okay, so thank you so, so much for enjoying (or at least I hope you enjoyed it) this story! This is officially the final chapter, although I'm planning on adding an extra sidestory later on because I'm slightly salty that Adrien x Wheat is more canon than Marinette x Wheat. Until then, I do have another au that you may also enjoy called Midnight Roses. It's a vampire au! Here's an excerpt for those who may be interested (although fair warning, there is much less humor and it's a far more mature story than this bread meme you've been reading for the past few months):
> 
> "No vampires here, Mademoiselle." The man clasps a hand hard on her shoulder, turning her around and hustling her out.
> 
> "S-Stop." She digs her heels into the ground, abruptly halting. The man collides into her with the pull of the motion. "At least let me talk to the village chief," she asserts.
> 
> But the man only glowers in response, moving his hand from her shoulder to her wrist. Twisting it behind her back, he pushes her forward again. "Leave," he hisses.
> 
> The other villagers are still looking at the two, but their eyes are deadened, dull.
> 
> Still, Marinette struggles not to be pushed past the threshold of this village. Yet she herself doesn't know why. After all, the second she had stepped into this place, she had felt disconcerted; the sun's light had been muffled by the grey clouds, like a foreshadowing of doom.
> 
> "Stop." She thrusts her back into the man, toppling him backwards a few steps from the shock of impact. Swiveling her heels to face him once more, she tells him, "Please. I just want to help."
> 
> He all but spits on the stone path. "Nothing a stranger can help us with."
> 
> "But I can help you stop the murders!" she snaps.
> 
> \----
> 
> So if you're still interested in the story, here's the [link](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5687968/chapters/13101526) to the story!


	10. If Adrien Can't Get His Hecking Cookies In Canon, I'll Let Him Have Them In A Fic, Darn It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrien x Cookies is real they are my otp

It's been a year since Marinette — or as officially stated, her witch persona, Ladybug — had assumed the throne.

The throne of the Second Mage of the Kingdom, that is.

And, it's been a good year. Adrien had ditched the princess for her. A wonderful character development.

For Marinette.

No, but really, he had left Chloe, and ever since, Marinette's not sure if Chloe has left her room at all.

As much as Marinette wants to give a smug, " _Ha._ Serves her _right!"_ she's honestly a little worried. Because, as the narrator has already stated, it's been a year.

One full year.

Like the almost full year it took for the author to finally write out this sidestory.

(Tragic.)

And one full year is a very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very long time not to leave your room.

(At this point, the author would like to state that it has also been a very long time since she left _her_ room. But, unlike Chloe, she was not tragically broken up with by a handsome fiance, so she has no excuse.)

So, since it's been a very long time, Marinette has begun contemplating whether or not it would be a good idea to start a 'Missing Persons Alert' for Chloe.

But...nah.

After all, this story is about _Marinette,_ not _Chloe._ There's a reason why the story isn't titled, "Chloe, the Teenage (Sassy) Witch."

I mean it almost was. But Chloe didn't cut the minimum level of sass necessary to be in consideration for the protagonist.

Yes, I know what you're thinking. There are auditions for fanfiction too, silly reader.

Anyway, back to what else went down during the year.

Well, there was that one time Marinette almost blew up half the Waterfront kingdom after trying to capture a criminal by using her trusty yo-yo. There was also that one time Marinette transcended the reaches of space and time, opening up a portal to an alternate dimension and finding herself in the foreign lands of Australia, where she was forced to survive a full week on only Golden Gaytimes that she ransacked from a heavyweight, kickboxing champion named "Kendawg the Kangaroo." _Oh._ There was also that time she raised a hellish landscape of bread zombies because _some people_ liked to _waste beautiful flour products,_ and she, as a champion of justice, just _could not let that slide._

But none of that's really important. Or interesting, for the matter.

You know what _is_ important and interesting?

Adrien.

Speaking of Adrien, Marinette's learned a very interesting thing about him recently.

Very interesting.

And very tragic.

See, Adrien has a mother.

Well, he _had_ a mother.

Up until the point when she fell through a rift in space and ended up in the foreign lands of Australia. (Marinette had to fight off T-Swizzle the Tremendous Tarantula and Bob the Opossum to recover Adrien's mother and deliver her back to his handsome hands. But, I guess since she's been returned to Adrien, that means he once again _has_ a mother.)

Anyway, this mother of his gave him many precious memories. One of them being her magical-well-not-quite-magical-since-she-couldn't-actually-do-magic-but-they're-magical-because-delicious-is-why cookies.

Cookies.

_Cookies._

**_Cookies._ **

Marinette's worst _nightmare._

And she knows what you're thinking. But Marinette? Aren't cookies _just like_ bread?

No.

Wrong.

Absolutely completely utterly incorrect. How _dare_ you even _try_ to insinuate that.

See, bread is soft and melts gently in your mouth when you bite into it.

Cookies are hard and made of sadness.

Well, turns out, it's been years since Adrien's had any cookies. In fact, the first thing he's asked of his mom upon her return from the dangerous lands of Australia was for her to bake him some cookies. Up until this point, Marinette had had absolutely no idea he was into such monstrosities. And it is now up to her to rectify this singular fault of his.

This brings us to our current situation.

Marinette.

In the castle kitchen.

Four hundred thousand pounds of flour, six tons of butter, and every other ingredient known to witchkind.

The kitchen staff cowering in terror in the corner.

Today, ladies and gentlemen and dapper nonbinary fellows, Marinette is going to make the most delicious batch of bread the world has ever seen.

And she's going to share it _all._

With Adrien.

And only Adrien.

Smile on her face, she gets to cooking.

~Obligatory Time Skip Because the Art of Breadmaking is an Ancient Art of Which the Author is Not Knowledgeable~

Marinette smiles, wiping off the sweat from her forehead and the tears of joy from her eyes. Yes, it's finally complete.

All the bread imaginable finally at her feet.

It's beautiful. (Bread beautiful.)

Delicately placing select pieces of bread on a tray, Marinette tries to get the perfect baesthetic. (Bread aesthetic, but also bae aesthetic because this is for Adrien and he is the _bae.)_

And with that, she leaves the kitchen with a skip in her step, leaving behind a bunch of terrified chefs with tears streaming down their eyes as they realize in horror that they'll have to serve bread to the king for the next half century.

* * *

"Oh Adrien~" Marinette struts confidently into the room. "I have a surprise for you!"

"Really?" He turns around, relaxing his arms from a spell he had been trying to craft for the past hour.

It was a spell on how to turn himself into a peacock.

Don't ask why.

Seriously.

Don't.

With the most adorably innocent smile in the world, Marinette offers him the tray of bread. "Here. I made these for you."

Adrien looks down, quickly counting about twenty pieces of bread. And they're all different types of bread, too. He counts several pastries, a croissant, four buns, two rolls...oh dear.

"What is this for?" he asks.

"Oh, just—" Marinette shrugs. "—I wanted to surprise you, is all."

"Well, thank you, Marinette." He reaches to try the croissant first.

* * *

And here, the author would like to pause the story and introduce to her readers a _brand new segment!_ It's titled, "Marinette the Teenage (Sassy) Witch Sidestory, but every time Adrien eats a piece of bread, the reader gets the entire Bee Movie script instead!" Ready?

Well, ready or not, that's what you're getting.

* * *

Raising it to his mouth, Adrien takes a bite of the croissant.

According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a bee should be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyway because bees don't care what humans think is impossible. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Ooh, black and yellow! Let's shake it up a little. Barry! Breakfast is ready! Coming! Hang on a second. Hello? Barry? Adam? Can you believe this is happening? I can't. I'll pick you up. Looking sharp. Use the stairs. Your father paid good money for those. Sorry. I'm excited. Here's the graduate. We're very proud of you, son. A perfect report card, all B's. Very proud. Ma! I got a thing going here. You got lint on your fuzz. Ow! That's me! Wave to us! We'll be in row 118,000. Bye! Barry, I told you, stop flying in the house! Hey, Adam. Hey, Barry. Is that fuzz gel? A little. Special day, graduation. Never thought I'd make it. Three days grade school, three days high school. Those were awkward. Three days college. I'm glad I took a day and hitchhiked around the hive. You did come back different. Hi, Barry. Artie, growing a mustache? Looks good. Hear about Frankie? Yeah. You going to the funeral? No, I'm not going. Everybody knows, sting someone, you die. Don't waste it on a squirrel. Such a hothead. I guess he could have just gotten out of the way. I love this incorporating an amusement park into our day. That's why we don't need vacations. Boy, quite a bit of pomp...under the circumstances. Well, Adam, today we are men. We are! Bee-men. Amen! Hallelujah! Students, faculty, distinguished bees-

No, the author is kidding. She's not going to subject you to the entire Bee Movie script. Not because her friend has begun kinkshaming her over it. Nope. Definitely not because of that.

Anyway, just as Adrien finally took a bite out of the croissant, his mom came waltzing into the room.

"Adrien!" she calls out. "The cookies are finally ready."

In his moment of glee, Adrien's hand jolts, accidentally releasing the croissant which then falls ever so slowly onto the floor.

Adrien looks down.

Marinette looks down.

Adrien's mother smiles.

"Marinette...I'm really sorry about that," Adrien says, rubbing his hair worriedly as he looks upon the carnage.

"No, no." Marinette tries her best to hold back her sniffles. "It's fine."

It's not fine. She worked hard on that croissant. And now it's on the dirty castle floor.

Still, Adrien walks over to take from his mother's tray of cookies, and takes a bite without hesitation.

And then he smiles a smile so radiant it rivals the sun.

Marinette has never seen him so happy.

Curious now, she puts her tray of bread down and takes a cookie from Adrien's mother, still giving her warm motherly smile.

Marinette takes a bite.

It's crunchy. It's too sweet. It's a little burnt.

Marinette doesn't get it.

"Alright, I have some business to attend to now." Adrien's mother sets the tray of cookies down on one of the tables. "Don't eat them too fast now, dear." She leaves.

Just as she does, Adrien finishes his cookies.

Marinette, too, finishes swallowing her bite. She looks down at the cookie, puzzled.

Why does Adrien enjoy these _cookies_ so much?

What do _cookies_ have that bread _doesnt?_

"Marinette," Adrien calls out. "You have some crumbs on your lips."

A little flustered, Marinette moves to wipe it off her lips. But she's a little slow, for just as she raises a hand to brush the crumbs off, Adrien is suddenly in front of her, leaning in to her. She gives out a small squeak of shock, but too late — his lips are already on hers. She moans slightly into his embrace, and as he parts, he licks her lips.

"There." He smiles. It's angelic but she knows that there's still traces of the sly, cat-boy debonair in him. "I got it for you."

If Marinette was flustered before, then there are no words for how she feels _now._ Even after a year of being courted by this handsome wizard, every kiss still leaves butterflies in her stomach.

But...

Marinette eyes the tray of cookies.

Maybe cookies aren't so bad after all.

_For the next week, Marinette walks around everywhere with cookie crumbs all over her face but Adrien never pulls off that kissing stunt again, leaving the rest of the castle staff to think Marinette an unsanitary witch trying to push the limits of fashion. Chloe also exited her room for the first time in a year, only to return back to her room in a fit of tears when she realized that Adrien was_ still _dating that disgusting witch who lacks the absolute shame not to dump her face in a vat of crumbs._

_But still, they all lived sassily ever after._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry for the very long wait. I hope this even half made it up for that! Anyway, this story is officially done and I am finally rid of a small part of my guilty writer's conscious.
> 
> Anyway, as this story suggests, I would like to propose a new headcanon involving Adrien's mother:
> 
> Adrien's mother is not dead. She's in Australia. They have all these emo paintings on the wall because you can never escape Australia. It is impossible to swim out of Australia with all the box jellyfish living ominously in the ocean.
> 
> End of headcanon.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!


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